Cu.. er. Cont.

Or Dot. Dotty.

Maggy. Margy/Margaret.

Paige.

Lance. Okay that one's just gross.

Bitty.

Patty.

Peg. Peggy. Towanda. Mariah. Tara.

Perhaps I am a bit opinionated. I'm not sure, but mayhap I be.

But at least I'm not named Gidget.

Gretchen

I'd say Gretchen is the worst. Gidget is a close second, though. And Bruce. And Brittany (a breed of dog, heh).

Hmm...

Abby for sure. And Gabby. Bart. Becka (eew). Ashley gets on my nerves, but it's about 37% tolerable.

Megan. Zach. Tiffany. Amber. Stacy/Lacy/Tracy. DAPHNE! Ick! Caitlin. Katey. Brianna. Paige.

Oh oh oh MOLLY! eeew! Or Polly, either one. PaTHEW.

Gertrude. Mary Ellen. Uma. Bridget! Colin. Nancy (oh lord).

Oh I could go on and on.

wtf?

What the hell kind of name is Gidget, anyway? It's somehow beats Bridget, and that's quite a task. blech.

Where do people come up with these names? My next post is going to be a compilation of names that piss me off.

Sometimes I think I'm too easy to piss off.

Naah.

Goin to the chapel and we're. . . gonna get maaaried [repeat]

Wow, that tsunami is horrific. Times like these I wish I were some hotshot celeb with major pull so I could go do something. In the meantime, I'm going to donate cash and valuable worry and heartache.

So is everyone back in school and solidly miserable yet? I sure as fucknut am. Let's talk about Advanced Fiction. Let's talk Tech Writing. Let's talk not getting home until 9 fucking o'clock. Let's talk about running over a squirrel and immediately wondering what's so f'ing great about humans that we feel we can just roll over an innocent being and keep driving rather than falling to pieces in regret. Let's talk about Howard Stern's hair.

Let's also talk about I'm removing some of these annoying polls now. Humph.

Do you ever wonder who the hell you are? Or if you've somehow fallen way behind in the race? Like Pink Floyd says, I think I may have missed the starting gun. Life has just gone on, and I'm still a little girl in pigtails eating an ice cream cone and singing "my boyfriend's back and we're gonna get in trouble, hay laaah hay laaah my boyfriend's back..."

Quoth the Raven

Great talents are the most lovely and often the most dangerous fruits on the tree of humanity. They hang upon the most slender twigs that are easily snapped off. - C. G. Jung

Anyway, like I was saying

Anyway, I just don't know what I'm doing. I don't regret for a second all the time I've invested in my degree. I learned more in the years I've been in college than I learned in the rest of my years, not to mention all I learned about myself. So I don't feel like it would be a waste. But I wonder if the fam damily will. I guess I shouldn't care, and sometimes I don't.

But what now? What direction do I go in? Do I just go with whatever brings more income? I'm passionate about too many things to decide what I want more. But it isn't necessarily realistic to assume I can just crack open a gallery and then dwell in a studio the rest of my life. It just sounds like heaven.

My big fear is that the world won't take to my art and I'll never support myself with it. I've sold prints, and people seem receptive. But when I get out there with both feet... Uhg.

Okay I'm done whining.

School is starting. Yay. I'm thrilled. Hold me down, for my excitement may jump forth and throw me into a mosh of utter bliss.

Redid the blog. Not sure if I like it. I think I need to change the color of the polls. I thought it would look better if they matched, but now it seems rather sterile.

My neighbors are watching The Lion King (or some seriously freaky Vivid Video) loud enough that you can probably hear it. Shhh. Hear it? Yeah, see what I mean?.

I think I'm going to start putting up links to pieces of art I like. Perhaps explaining how I interpret it or talking about it's formal properties. Would that be like, lame? Or maybe I'll just link to it and ask what y'all think of it, (did you like that? Heh, I said 'y'all'.) or how you interpret it or whatnot. Eh. It'll probably last one or two goes and then fizzle.

For shizzle.

Eeew. spitbthbthspit. Yhuckth. Nope, I tried it on, but it didn't fit.

Anywho, here's an artist I like. He was a precisionist, if you're familiar with the movement. And even if you aren't. My opinion is baffling to me because normally, I would think a precisionist is less expressive (therefore, to me, somewhat less valid artistically). But something about the way he paints is still expressive. Especially with some of his pieces, like
this one, called Windows. It's less... precisionist than most of his work. A little less nifty, but I can't find the one I wanted to link to. Here's another one of his called Wheels. It looks like a photo, but it's an oil painting.

His stuff looks nothing like what I normally like, OR what I do myself. But for some reason I'm drawn to it. Not that I would own precisionist work, I just like looking at it.

Next entry I'll link to stuff more... me.

Say it Aint So-o-o

I'm SO not ready for school to start back up. Seems like I just got the f*ck out of there. Drudging through hallways in-a-line, and going up stairs face-in-ass. And where I live, you have to talk like this: "Oh my gawd, howr yeh? Oh goooood, I'm fiiine tyooo. What classes are you taking this ssssemessster? Oh wow me tyoo! [insert annoying porn-star giggle]"

How much longer am I going to force myself to experience such drudgery? Is my degree worth it? Significan Other says don't stop now, I'm this [ ] close. Red voice on my right shoulder says, 'FUCK IT ALL, QUIT NOW.' Glittery White voice on my left shoulder says 'Smart girl, don't give up on your goal. All will be like gumdrops and rainbows!'

What to do what to do. I know I'll keep going. I'll get my happy little degree and go about my happy little career, probably pop out a screaming baby.

Or will I?

I always saw myself as that eccentric artist with paint in my hair, always wearing a button-up outer shirt with pain smeared everywhere, bitching about the republicans and sipping lattés. Sitting in my lounge chair with an Apple Powerbook (like this one I suppose) clacking away novels that fans claw each other over, yanking that last copy off the store shelf with a triumphant YESSSS! Or opening my art gallery downtown, flinging my photography on the walls of the elite wealthy and throwing fabulous art parties full of gay men with excellent fashion sense.

More later.

My God Man

I just have to say, Colin Farrell is ridiculously , unbearably, unbelievably, and excessively smokin hot.

I think that putting him in a movie with Angelina was just someone playing a cruel joke on me.

I mean, seriously.