Ladies and gents, a photopost of miraculous randomocity! Please enjoy.



( +24 )

This will be messy, unorganized, irresponsible, immature and possibly ill-spelled.

Everything is held together by these tiny little bits of thread, and usually it looks like it's all okay but I have to keep tugging at everything to keep it in place while gravity does its work, and really all thread is is little tiny bits of thinner strings twisted together, strings that are made of nothing but even tinier, thinner bits of string, and on inward until all you have is nothing, really. There's so much to be done. Ink the cartoon sleep eight hours look for apartments buff the muffin scan the painting feed the cat vacuum the floors call dad back go to work go to the dentist get a CAT scan learn to ride scooter illustrate the book. Where does anyone ever get clean clothes? I think they magically appear in my closet because I certainly don't wash them.

I'm tricking myself into chasing intangible things while I should be getting my tangibles in order. I'm impatient, not controlling my temper but not saying what I want to say when I want to say it like today on the bus that idiot guy sitting in front of me and spitting, actually spitting on the bus floor, like it's the ground, like he can just spit on stuff where people are going to have to walk or sit down and he was doing it the whole bus ride but my crippling fear of confrontation kept me from telling him off, no matter how I wanted to.

I was so mad that I pulled out a Buddhist learning book to try to get my temper under control but the first thing it said was to accept yourself exactly how you are, that it's wrong to turn to Buddhism to try and become a better person so I put the book down. Who doesn't want to become a better person? I can't love and accept that I'm ignoring shit that makes me mad and yet getting impatient with almost all my customers and if I can't help me and Buddhism can't help me, should I just stay this way even if it pisses me off?

But why am I even worrying about myself when not a day goes by that I don't have a new thing to worry about that has nothing to do with me? Mom gets sick and I have to list her symptoms over the phone while my father listens and rules out a stroke but advises me to dial an ambulance if it gets worse. I have to be out of my apartment by the end of August which is no time at all but how am I supposed to find an apartment when my two hands can't even find my ass? I have to finish the website, learn to update, print up a book, make more money, peddle to syndicates, get rich to finance the treehouse I want to build and the eight children I want to have.

The brother of this guy I used to write about a lot came in the store, and he remembered by name even though I never told him what it was, and he looks just like his brother only he smiles more so I was thinking of asking what went wrong with his brother and who he really is deep down and why doesn't he have any friends and is he doing okay these days and why hasn't he been to see me and why the last time he came in was he so cold to me, not smiling or looking at me or talking to me? But I didn't bother because those are the questions I always have about that boy's brother, along with why he seemed to like and hate and like and hate me so much more than the others. In the vein of boys I'm living down there's another who I thought I might check up on just now, before I wrote this, but I had to physically propel myself away from the computer to avoid doing so because that's how it starts, I wonder how he is, I'll just check, and then ten minutes later you're obsessing and feeling like you want to hurl in your commode and then hurl yourself off a cliff. I'm so much happier when I don't think about them, which is almost all the time, and each time I start, I remind myself that I don't want to get steamrolled again.

The Boyfriend is temporarily living back at his old place with his roommates instead of with me so he can be closer to work and though he promises it's not because he wants to be away from me I'm still alone more and I used to be just fine with being alone now I want him around all the time but I couldn't really say why other than that he makes me comfortable, but what if it's not working out and he's ready to walk? That ridiculously handsome boy was back in the store with that lingering ice blue eye contact and it makes me so UNcomfortable but I still like it but there's no way I'd even be attracted to someone so handsome because I always make myself look like an asshole when I see him and with the Boyfriend I'm always safe and pretty and healthy and happy right in my own skin.

I finished my fairytale, the first draft anyway, and I can't show it to anyone before my sister sees it so she can tell me whether or not its crap and there's another impediment to my personal growth, that need to be validated by other people. My fantasy used to be to run off to New Zealand where no one knew me and start over and in doing so be perfectly independent and learn to be with just myself and to take care of myself but I can't even remember my own social security number, I can't fill out a tax form, I can't ride a scooter to get from place to place nor even translate the crazy bus schedule I should be using, and I need a big sister and a boyfriend and a mom and a dad to all read over my fairytale before I know if it's good or not. This fact just makes me want to go away even more, to suddenly move and tell them all after I get there and spend a year or so all on my own, taking care of myself, but though I tell myself it's because I'm not brave enough to do it I know it's really because deep down I don't want to at all, I enjoy depending on other people even though I get disappointed a lot, more than I ever tell them, the fact that I can still depend on them after that may be some convoluted form of bravery. Or stupidity.

What can I do but sort through whatever I can, piece by piece, whether or not I'm heading for disaster?



This was a big fat load of confession. I don't know if it really helped, but if you actually read all that, you've got a strong constitution. And you probably know more about me than I do.

I felt grumpy and dissatisfied all day today. I thought it was the Boyfriend I was dissatisfied with, because he was there, and that is often what girlfriends think. We drove home in near silence while I tried to convince myself to buck up and he tried to figure out why I wasn't talking. Back at my house I changed into pajamas and washed my face, hoping that would change my attitude. I blamed myself for feeling unhappy, because as I often remind myself, there is nothing for someone as privileged as myself to be grumpy about and it's so easy to decide to get in a better mood, that I always try to do that first. But this time it wasn't working.

I laid down next to him on my bed and talked about how sometimes when a person has an off day, they project this bad attitude which fills the people around them with the same feeling, so either they get grumpy too or they walk on eggshells to avoid a fight. Because I thought that was it.

He hugged me close and said it was all right, and he was glad I was talking to him because it scared him when I didn't. That's when I started crying. Because it wasn't this, this petty relationship stuff, that was driving out my crazies. It was big things, the world, the murders and beatings, the war that no one will end even though they can, the trees that are dying, the oceans that are dying, the hatred and the disease, the political figures all over the world who do not belong in power but will do anything to stay there and continue hurting people, the rich people who get richer, the poor people who get poorer, the bad things that happen to good people, as well as the good things that happen to bad people.

"I feel like everything is wrong," I said, starting to cry hard. "No one is changing it. Everything is messed up and no one is going to stop it. God, it hurts. No one wants to stop it."

I told him I've been distracting myself, even unconsciously, from all these horrible things that are happening, telling myself I'm just in a mood, changing the channel, anything, and it builds and builds and gets worse. As I was pressed to his chest and crying harder than I have in years, all these faces came up, women in cloths, babies, men in suits, and I was sad for them all, I was heartbroken for them all. I was shocked at myself. As talented as we have become at distancing ourselves from tragedy, we should be able to shake it off permanently. It just caught up with me.

"I love you," he said. Then he told me about good things that were happening in Africa, the UN including the dreaded Bush, forgiving billions of dollars of debt and starting programs for aid, more than anyone has done for Africa in many years, maybe ever. And he told me he was there for me, and was delighted that I would let him hold onto me while I soaked his shirt.

After crying your face feels tighter and your head throbs, but it's a good feeling, it's a feeling of release. The dirty feeling I had been building up was washed away, and now I can see that things may be getting better, slowly. And if not, we have each other, people who love us, people who will not flinch if your nose runs on their sleeve and will squeeze you even tighter if it happens.

We as people will never stop doing that. At least we have that.


I'm going to cook. That's another thing we all have.

Usually, I want kids right away. I want about six or eight of them, right now, totally ready, no problem, pile 'em on, send me the crib lizards, it's time. I love kids, I love hanging with them, chatting with them, telling them stories. Kids are grand, and I'm well trained in looking after them.

However, a while ago, I experienced a day, maybe a few days, where I just wasn't feeling it. I'm not ready to give up being the center of attention. I'm not done being taken care of by others. I'm still a kid.

I drew this.





I'll do a short one:

* watching dogs chew
* soft cotton dresses that make me look skinnier
* ketchup
* sand in my hair
* mild sunburn
* the way The Boyfriend gets so excited over making me a mixed CD that he re-does the song order and the cover art, like, six times
* Dan Akroyd's unlikely but potent hotness
* experiments with lime chicken and pineapple
* tiny fat birds that hop
* Dad's pictures of the Ohio blizzard
* bagpipes and kilts
* phone calls from himself
* the "Art of Bone" book my dad just sent me secretly, which is far too awesome for me to explain to you (thanks, Pop!)
* Suki high on catnip
* selling EVERY SINGLE ONE of the Snap Crackle Pop booklets at Jelly's
* the dirty guilty satisfying rock of AC/DC
* driving and shopping with Lily before work
* my mom's banana bread. Holy macaroni.
* my new DVD from Amazon, the amazing and barely-in-print Dr. Suess double feature, the Lorax and the little known but still awesome Pontoffel Pock and his magic piano! Y'all gotta see this shit.
* Whitney, Sara, Liz, Jen, Ashley, Mo, Juliet, Becca Lee... to name a few. And Lily of course.


Love you all!

Just a few sketches...


( Love and flesh-eating monsters... )

My head is all full of craziness. I switch from elation to misery every half hour, it seems. I'm close to something big, and the coward in me wants to stay at home in my pajamas, drawing cartoons and listening to KT Tunstall and being stared at by my goldfish. In the face of these big changes and possibilities I begin to think even cartoons don't matter as much.

Which tells me I have a problem. ;)

I made some cynical, off-the-cuff joke to Amber, my coworker, about love being more or less the absence of hate, which I only said as an attempt at belittling love in general. She said that didn't work, because love and hate are inexorably connected, that hate for one thing is inspired by its destruction or perversion or whatnot of a something we love. A few minutes later she came up to me and said, "You know what I think love is the absence of? -- This is not an original idea -- Fear."

I just sort of stood there. It took me a second to close my mouth.



Here is your cartoon, my beautiful, beautiful people! We'll talk more soon.

"How did they find me and what do they want from me, all of these vultures hiding right outside my door, I hear them whispering, they're trying to ride it out, cause they've never gone this long without a kill before..."
--John Mayer Trio: "Vultures"

This feeling of being bombarded continues every day... I'll never know why men see my attitude of refusal as a challenge to be overcome rather than just a simple no. If a person puts up walls, it's to keep people out, not to goad others into knocking them down. WHY the walls are there is entirely my own business. I've had an unpleasant run-in with an invasive anonymous person, and two men peed in front of me yesterday. TWO. Totally independent of each other.

It's odd, but at the same time I find myself spending time with a new friend, a man, no less, and it feels as natural and fun and innocent as hanging out with Lily. I count this as a very cool, very important thing in my life -- we've cooked for each other, we've gone on drives, he's read me a bedtime story, we've nearly fallen asleep on each other's furniture -- it's good clean fun. For once.

There's more, but first, there is a comic to be had. Computer shenanigans and a latenight talk with a sleepy mum make it an hour late, but hey, I ain't gettin' paid yet!




AND BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE HAPPENS: An announcement.

I had hoped to launch this with the launching of the Snap Crackle Pop website, but things are still being taken care of in that department, and meanwhile I'm paying for the use of this particular feature, so I am happy to announce something that will hopefully be good news to everyone...



THE SNAP CRACKLE POP CAFEPRESS SHOP IS NOW OFFICIALLY OPEN!




Go and spend your hard-earned cash! And pay no attention to that silly "welcome" paragraph on the site, they put that in automatically so it looks like I'm their bitch.

I put a lot of effort into the designs for this stuff, and there's more to come once it's finished, so please enjoy!

I have a lot to say about a variety of things, some of them marvelous, some insipid, some frustrating, some even romantic, but I don't think I can say any of it tonight. I am under the weather, and will be enjoying my view of the world from the squashy safe vantage point of my bed, with my book, and a nice cup of juice. I'd pay someone five whole bucks to come give me a backrub or read me a story -- possibly ten bucks -- but I'm sure I'm just as happy with my teddy bear and Northanger Abbey.

So instead of saying anything fabulous and interesting to prelude my comic for today, I will cave in and do as my sister, and several of my friends, have asked.

List ten things that have made you happy recently and tag people to do the same.

1. Midnight drives with my sister, some burned CDs and a bag of pretzels
2. Louis Prima, particularly "Just A Gigalo" and "Angelina Zooma Zooma"
3. A phone call with Ashley Bliss, which is the equivalent of a really good shag (I'd bet)
4. My new book, Northanger Abbey, which is the only Jane Austen novel I have left to read, and like all her stories, it sucks me in to the time period from the first sentence, and, like all her stories, I completely identify with the main character, particularly this one's naive oblivious nature and addiction to heroic fantasy.
5. Making pizza for Andrew and his roommate
6. The roosters outside Andrew's house, who crowed in the middle of the night at the rain
7. The fact that Lily drove all the way to Ala Moana in crazy Saturday traffic and braved the insane mall just to try to find me a legit Snow White costume, which she says she'd have dropped three hundred coconuts on if she'd found it. What a douche. ;)
8. Being told that I have pretty hair.
9. Coloring a new Hatter drawing while listening to Christmas music
10. The fact that I have friends who would do anything for me. I mean, Jeez Louise.

I tag all my people, sincerely, because I want to know what makes you happy.



On that decidedly mushy note, have a comic with some rare violence up ins! Or the hint of violence. Plus: note my amazing use of artistic background.