My Bank Just Sent Me a Dollar Bill in the Mail

No, really. A crisp one dollar bill. In the mail.

All I'm saying is, I could've used that dollar before I went to Sonic.

I Just Got My Ass Kicked... But In a Good Way

Tonight I went mountain biking for the second time ever, the first time in over a year, and the first time with people who know what the fuck they're doing. Holy crap y'all, mountain biking is terrifying! And I was only on a semi technical trail on a city park in Houston. Houston! Where if you want a "hill" the Kemah bridge or a parking garage are pretty much your only options.

Whatever, it was totally fear inducing. Tight turns bordering steep precipices. Small woodland creatures ready to pounce at any moment. Wicked dips strewn with rocks and roots. People who actually know what they're doing coming at you at a high rate of speed from the other direction while you're just trying to stay upright. OK, so there weren't any actual rabid animals about but the rest of that is true. I never thought I'd miss assholes trying to run me over, car doors opening as I pass, bottles of insect repellent and pizza slices being thrown at me and broken glass all in whatever bike lanes my side of town actually has, but shit, I know that mess. I have the finest toned middle fingers you've ever seen. Alas, middle fingers mean nothing when you're in the middle of the woods trying not to take a header into a tree.

I did have to walk my bike up a couple inclines and I racked myself more than once on the handle bars, but I in fact did not run into any trees, fall off any precipices, or run into any other riders. I even stayed upright (or mostly upright) the entire time. SUCCESS!!

I Suddenly Feel Significantly Less Special

Evidently I’m not the only one who’s had a tattoo complimented by Enigma. My delusions of tattoo grandeur are shattered. :(

Art Salon

Not long ago, a few friends of mine had the brilliant idea to have artist workshops of sort every month. These aren't classes, just get togethers where people can work on art in whatever medium they choose in a space that is purely dedicated to art. It was born in part from one person in particular who had an extra building in back of his place and decided it would be a great place for people who couldn't have dedicated art spaces in their own places due to size constraints among other issues. So the Art Salon was born and with 4 (I think) salons so far under its belt, it looks like it'll be a continued success. A much better success than my failed art postcard attempt in college which despite a lot of interest, never got past me sending out the first few postcards. :(

My first experience with the Art Salon was the 2nd time they held one. Sadly I couldn't get out of my non artistic funk and walked away with only one quick simple sketch to cling to. (I apologize in advance for the picture quality)



Last night was a lot better for me, partly due to me refusing to pull the same crap I had last time. It's still not up to what I know I can do when I actually practice at my art (I'll probably post drawings later of some of the better stuff I've done), but I'm not unhappy with what I came home with.

The theme for last night was Apocalypse (there was a steampunk goggle making class) and the following was the only sketch I did a long those lines (yes I know it's a stretch):



Strangely, I'm both happy and disappointed with the result. I'll try to go back to it later and tweak it or just redo it to take care of some the problems I'm having with it (mostly with the horrendous typography; I also think it would work and look a lot better if the words weren't so fucking stark but that part I'm not sure about yet).

Past that I mainly just did quick sketches of the other people there, like these:




When I got bored with that I decided to play around with some cheap water colors and, I have to say, I like the result. Especially considering it's really only about the 3rd time I've tried anything with paint since I was in kindergarten.



Despite the resemblance, even in watercolor, this is not in fact my ex-boyfriend (at whose place we have these things). Just someone who looks remarkably like him and has his same taste in hats.

I also did a fan art piece of Tulip, but to see that you'll have to go to her facebook page... which I don't have the address for because I'm not on facebook myself. Woohoo mystery art!

The last piece is of me instead of by me. Enjoy some art by someone with more skill than I!

Tears of Anger

My eyes start to well up, and my voice shakes. Soon, regardless if I'm careful or not, the tears are running down my face and I can barely choke out another word. I'm not sad, or even just extremely frustrated. I'm fucking pissed. And this crying business? It's doing nothing but piss me off more.

It happened again tonight when I decided to call someone out on how they've been treating me since they found out my sex life isn't approved by them. Luckily, I caught her voicemail and not her directly, but my voice still shaked and I forgot half of what I thought was important to tell her. And when I hung up, I couldn't stop shaking. Fuck, I'm still shaking.

I used to think this was just me. That I was broken because I was child suffering from severe depression and I kept every emotion of mine buried deep inside, so when something extreme happened to me I couldn't help but cry. But nothing I tried could control the tears, or the additional anger I felt for doing something as stupid as cry.

Now I know that this isn't an uncommon reaction at all. But that doesn't help the frustration when it happens. Crying is a sign of weakness in our society. It means you're too invested, too emotional, too much of a silly girl. And that just makes me want to cry some more.

ETA: Hey! Person in the 2nd paragraph just called me back and not only did I not cry but I made clear the rest of what I forgot to add in my message. Woohoo! Now If I could only convince people that, "I'm sorry if that offended you" isn't a real apology. sigh.

All My Exes Live In Texas (except for that one in California, who isn't really an ex anyway, but that's not how the song goes)

Recently through an absurd and completely unrelated series of events I've gotten in touch with a number of my ex boyfriends/crushes/booty calls/etc. So I figured what better way to celebrate this randomness than to share with others my impeccable taste in men.

Tri-guy was the start of this trip down memory lane. He was a guy I used to work out with and occasionally go dancing with in college and who I once asked on an only slightly awkward date. Tri-guy was awesome: incredibly sweet, hella smart, and ridiculously good looking to boot. I got the friend spiel after that one date but we actually did remain friends for a while after that until we both graduated and went different places. Last weekend I was registering for a softball tournament that was being held back in my college town when I look up and there's Tri-guy! Still as gorgeous as ever and from our brief reunion, evidently still an all around great guy. Just one problem though... I play in an LGBT softball league, this was an LGBT tournament, and tri-guy was wearing the shortest shorts since Reno 911 and a rainbow flag tank top. Whatever, I was still totally justified in my crush.

George is the next old flame up to bat, a guy so awesome I named my succession of mint plants after him and who left me a hilarious drunk dial voice mail just a few nights ago. He was another person I knew from college and it was all I could do to keep from hooking up with George while I was still with The One Who Got Away (coming up later). Unfortunately, George came around when I was trying to reconcile my waxing sexuality with my not-yet-waning Catholicism, so he had to deal with damaged grog. However, he made clear what his interest was and then stepped back. He never once pushed me to do anything I wasn't sure about or ready for. And if it wasn't for him I wouldn't have the awesome story about a hot make out session on the hood of someone else's car which is a lot better story than the time another college crush of mine passed out on the hood of my car and while I tried for an hour to get him up and back into the house, another person sat there and played the free games on my phone. George has promised to keep me in the loop for the next time he makes it back to Texas and I've promised to start scoping out car hoods.

Next up in the parade involves tales that aren't mine to share so instead I'll leave this warning to any future exes of mine:
If you want to tell stories after we break up that make me out to be an unreasonable bitch, chances are I can give you enough actual material to work with. You don't have to make shit up. Because if you do, you'll just wind up looking like a dumb ass and a douche bag when I talk with your current girlfriend and we compare stories about the different things you told each of us. And I will talk with your girlfriend, because evidently my superpower is the ability to become friends with the subsequent paramours of my exes.

Finally we have Cuba, The One Who Got Away (actually last up is another high school boyfriend who my mom just informed me is married and expecting a kid but that's all there is to that story so we'll just ignore him). Cuba's brief resurgence in my life came this morning when I went to get some coffee and one of the baristas there was a dead ringer for a slightly younger and shorter version of Cuba. So naturally I have to share this with him even though I wasn't able to send him photographic proof and we spent the next hour or so catching up. In actuality, Cuba didn't get away so much as different things in life: we wanted them. But I still care for him deeply and I'm glad we're still friends even if we only catch up a couple times a year and occasionally drunkenly make out when I go back to visit my home town. But Cuba, babe, if you ever want to join the poly circle you got my number. Rawr.