Dogs Love Clothes

With Fondue walking around in her bad-ass bedazzled shirts for weeks now, I knew it was only a matter of time until all of her dog friends got jealous. In the spirit of animal fairness, I got out my rhinestones, sat on my couch in the lotus position, and waited for the creative energy to flow through me.

These two projects are part of my "Rock of Love II" series. Inspired by Bret Michael's guyliner, cheap hookers and cuervo shots. But then again, what in my life isn't?

Sometimes at night, I look up at the blurry, smoggy, Oakland sky and try to imagine what my world would be like if the stars were intensely multi-colored and maybe even visible. I took that desire and my bedazzler and created this for Lily:

I saw my imagined stars against a deep, black background. A black background streaked with milky white patterns and bedecked and bedazzled with stars. Surprisingly the stars, in this piece, seem to resemble the letter 'L'; coincidentally Lily's name begins with a 'L'.

You never know what in life itself is going to call on you, become your muse, and push you to the next level in your art. The other day Fondue and I went to the vet for shots. Well, she went for the shots. I went for the shitty coffee and high credit card bills. On the way there, in order to detract myself from the mellifluous sounds of chihuahua whining coming from the back seat; I looked out the window at the rolling hills that border the 580 and saw the goats. I don't know the full story about the goats, but they move around from location to location around the bay area and seem to be employed as grass mowers. I was moved by the combination or urban and rural. Goats by the freeway! Not smelly goats that you need to feed and take care of, but pretty goats that you look at while speeding on the freeway. Urban, rural, the combination and the contrast. I was overwhelmed and couldn't wait to get home to create this for Trixie:

Surprisingly, the eyelets in this piece seem to resemble the letter 'T'. Coincidentally, Trixie's name begins with a 'T'.

Next, I put Jay Z's, American Gangster and Dolly Parton's Backwoods Barbie in the cd player, hit shuffle, close my eyes and let the bedazzler and my subconscious do the rest.


'Adult' Madlibs

Sadly, you cannot judge a book by it's cover. More accurately, you cannot buy a book of Madlibs because you glimpse the word 'adult' on the cover and get all pouty when they are lame and sexist. Still, the money has been paid and it is non-refundable.


Women certainly know the many PLURAL NOUN to get what they want, but are we too demanding of our PLURAL NOUN? Take this ADJECTIVE quiz to figure out whether you're just a/an ADJECTIVE gal or if you need to learn to a [sic] little more flexible.
Which best describes what happens after a/an ADJECTIVE Argument?

(a) You go into the ROOM, slam the door, and wait for him to VERB.

(b) He spends NUMBER hours screaming and telling you that you are ADJECTIVE.

(c) You fall into each other's PART OF THE BODY (PLURAL) and you lead him to the NOUN immediately.

(d) You give him the silent NOUN for NUMBER days before forgiving him.

Answer: Hopefully you picked (c), you'll get ADJECTIVE evening out of it!


Still Breathing

Please stop calling my house at all hours of the night to see why I have not been keeping up with the blog. I've just been busy. I'm going through a something or other right now. It's not you, it's me. Well, mainly it is the HR Farm. It is one of our busy times. You may not have been hearing from me, but my customers have. I know they cherish my calls, the dulcet sound of my sweet, sweet voice, but must they keep delaying doing what they are supposed to do in order to make me call them EVERY DAY? Sigh.

I have tried to make time for you, and the blog, and personal hygiene. Alas, it was not meant to be. My days are spent with the calls and the meetings. At night, after enduring the two mile commute home, I fall on the couch, deaf to the cries of lonely pets. I handle the stress the best way I know how, Bedazzling shirt after tiny Chihuahua shirt. Dogs love rhinestones. It’s a fact. Bling aside, it’s been a crazy couple of weeks.

I do still love you. Please stop with the tears.


Today's Letter

Dear Crazy Guy on BART,

First, I'm not sure if you are really crazy or maybe just a little drunk. At 1:00 in the afternoon on a weekday. Your eyes were bloodshot and you kind of over-shared in an odd, frantic way, still I was doing my best not to pay too much attention. I was actually trying to read the new 'Consumer Reports'. You may have noticed that it was on my lap and I kept glancing down at it while you were talking to me. As much as I tried to stay on point, I don't think I retained any of the product reviews. If I end up buying shitty toothpaste, it is your fault. And frankly, my teeth cannot handle the risk. But I digress.

What I really want to say is I know I may appear friendly and approachable. And in many ways, I am. But I don't do well with crazy. I do even less well, with crazy, that spends half their time talking about how their girlfriend wants to marry them and the other half of the time flirting with me.

First of all. I am tired of that tired old gender cliche talk about how guys don't want to marry and gals really, really do. It's stale, it's annoying, and I don't find it very accurate. Marry her! Don't marry her! Just stop flirting with me and let me read my magazine.

Also, while I appreciate advice that is helpful. I'm not sure you explaining to me that I have not ever been in love was very helpful. A) because I have. B) because maybe crazy people and girls on BART that try to read Consumer Reports just might feel love in different ways.

Still, you were nice enough. And when you said 'you don't bite' that was accurate. At least for the BART ride. And that's good. Because if you weren't crazy. Or drunk. And you weren't overly into gender cliches. And if you didn't have a girlfriend. And if I was even .05% attracted to you. I would insist on being the one doing the biting.

Now, leave daddy alone. She's reading about toothpaste.


So, my sewing classes were supposed to start last night. I was anxious, to say the least. If I'm going to get on the next season of Project Runway, I should probably know how to thread a bobbin and say, turn on my sewing machine. So, I show up at the middle school that the class is supposed to be held in. E Hall, room 2. Now how hard could that be? Well, it is complicated by the fact that C Hall was next to H Hall. I'm no alphabet expert, but that seemed wrong to me. It also explains why people seem so concerned about the quality of education that the California public school system provides.

Finally, the really nice, really short janitor guy helped me out. We made jokes about the uh, order of the halls and found our way to E-2. Which was empty. So, that was excellent. The janitor, was still helpful. "Well, I know that E-1 has an ESL class, could that be it?" "No, I'm all good there." He laughed, he helped me find the number for the adult school people. So, I call and they tell me that the class was delayed a week and 'everyone' was called. "No, not everyone". Then I was informed that the supply list had changed and I should bring my sewing machine.


Now, I do have a sewing machine. That isn't the problem. The problem is, the fact that you need a machine for the class was not mentioned anywhere in the write up. While I am not a mensa certified genius, I am still smart enough to realize that's some crazy shit to forget to mention.

So, that was my yesterday. Except the part where it gets better. You know the old saying: When one door closes because the f-ers at the adult school don't even know the alphabet, another door opens. My friend Michele called and had an extra ticket to the Ani DiFranco, City Arts and Lectures interview.

Honestly, that made everything better. 500% better or so. Rough estimate.