anonymouse

It's time for another update! School has begun, so I've been awfully lazy in replying to journals and comments in my journals. Bad, bad toaster!

Actually, no. Good toaster. Yesterday I stopped to get some gas 'cause the needle pointed to empty, but the red gas light hadn't turned on yet. I wasn't taking any chances, though. Some guy had his car pulled over at the gas station, and he needed a jumpstart. I wasn't really thinking about whether or not he was faking and if he would steal my car or rape me or take all of my money (which was, like $20 and a credit card -- I could cancel the credit card right away) or kill me until I had gotten the jumper cables out of my trunk. At that point, with the jumper cables danging from my grubby little fists, I realized, "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit." Yeah, it was a pretty populated area. Cars were going by, people were in the Farm Store by the gas pump, but still. He could've been a homicidal maniac for all I knew. I handed him the jumper cables and called my house on my cell phone. I got a busy signal. I started freaking out inside, wondering why the hell the phone was off the hook and scared that something had happened to my family. (Nothing happened, my absentminded dad left the phone off the hook, and my mom and I proceeded to crackwise at him once I got home. He was reduced to sobs when my mom and brother went on a roadtrip and didn't call him for five hours. He called the police in Jacksonville and everything. Twice. I felt for him at the time, but I also couldn't stop laughing because he was being so ridiculous. Either way, we told him about the hypothetically crazy guy who jacked my car, and that's why I was so late getting home, and it was an emergency, and I couldn't get through because he left the phone off the hook, and oh my god, I had to take a taxi home because I couldn't contact you guys... And that's when my mom and I lost it and dissolved into fits of giggles and laughter. He was all, "You guys! That's not funny!" But he was smiling. And he didn't actually say, "You guys!") Then I tried calling Byron, but he was out doing ballet-type things. So I pretended to talk to Byron while I started up my car and gave his car a jolt of power through the jumper cables. It worked like a charm, and he was very, very grateful. He was so grateful that he offered to tint my windows for free -- he owns a window tinting company. Yay!!!

So it turns out my ass isn't wider than an H2. I looked in the mirror last week at my jean-clad ass and saw a huge freaking ass. Only, it was mostly ill-fitting denim I saw. I now know to burn all of the Levi's in my closet. I can only wear relaxed fit dark rinse bootcut jeans by Ralph Lauren or Donna Karen. I like how these jeans in particular perfectly cup my ass -- super-tight around my ass, making it look fiiiiiiiine.

The Levi's-clad ass scared me, so I set up my TiVo for a season's pass of Denise Austin on Lifetime: Television for Women. I love my TiVo and will sometimes give it anthropomorphic qualities. Por ejemplo, TiVo sounds and awful lot like "Tito," and who is to know that my boyfriend is not an exotic Latino named Tivo? Okay, aside from myself and the rest of the world with more than three brain cells bouncing about in their heads. Anyhow, my boyfriend TiVo records bad Lifetime movies for me, even when I don't ask him to do so. He knows I love watching Meredith Baxter TV movies. The ones starring Meredith Baxter has a troubled mother are the best ones because they're so AWFUL. Just... Bad. I spend a lot of time with my mother watching Lifetime movies with my mom and laughing with her at the absurdity of it all. They're so awesome. At any given time, I can walk in on my mom watching a Lifetime movie or vice-versa, and she'll explain the basic plot thus far. Then I'll sit down, and we'll have a conversation like this after a minute or so:

Me: Oh my god. The little boy wearing the cowboy hat.
Mom: I know.
Me: The little boy wearing the cowboy hat and shit-kicking jeans and huge belt buckle and flannel shirt abd cowboy boots can't act.
Mom: I know.
Mom and I burst into laughter at -- Me: Oh my god. The exterior shots of the plane are so obviously close-ups of a toy plane against a backdrop. That is so [giggle], so [snortle], sad. [chortle].

I love bad Lifetime movies.

Anyway, I told TiVo to record all the Denise Austin low-impact aerobics shows. I'll continue with the exercise regimen because I could stand to lose a few pounds even though I actually do like how my ass looks. It's not exercise for old, arthritic people. It's more or less 20 minutes of exercise (with my boyfriend TiVo editing out the 10 minutes of commercials for me) for people -- people like me -- who hate exercise. When I exercise, I can't help but think of all of the other wonderful things I could be doing, and oh shit, I'm exercising, I'm sweating, I have to take a shower, there goes another half hour, WOULD YOU STOP SMILING, DENISE? I circumvent some of my issues with Denise by muting her. She has a grating voice, and it's not just the peppy, can-do attitude that bugs. I don't need to listen to her blowing smoke up my ass, so the mute button is a great advantage. Also, her skin is orange. It's really, really gross. Sometimes she'll wear color combinations that offend my color sense: It's okay for a five year old girl to wear pink and purple together, but it's not okay for you. That's why I turn off the color on the TV, or I'll mess with the tint or hue or whatever to make her skin tone look normal.

I can't exercise on tuesdays and thursdays, though. I spend those days running from class to class from 8 am to 6:15 pm. That's over 10 hours on campus. Well, it's okay. I can get most of my reading done during my breaks. It could be worse, and besides, I have a four day weekend. Yay.

In other news, my orange tabby who was diagnosed with cancer isn't doing any worse. My mom let Sammy in, and he popped into the house before she could see that there was something in his mouth. She screamed very loudly, and I was scared something horrible was happening -- the assholes across the street let their excitable and moronic golden retrievers loose, and they were attacking Sammy. But no. I got to the den ready to tear dogs off of my Sammy, but instead I screamed when my eyes set upon the sight that greeted me on the floor of the den: A poor, little bushy-tailed squirrel. I screamed when I saw it because I am a girly girl. I high-tailed it out of there, and mom and I made my over-emotional dad take care of the mess. He started crying for the little squirrel, which is simultaneously hilarious (yes, I was laughing very hard) and sweet. He took the squirrel out and gave it a little burial while crying. Aw. I love squirrels. I think they're cute. I have pictures of a squirrel staring at me as I took pictures of it in my pics section. But... Heh. My dad has a lot of emotions.

Today, when I drove home from school in between classes to pick up my wallet because I left it at home like a moron, I saw my mom turning the hose on squirrels attacking Sammy. I can only presume that these were the deceased squirrel's family members or friends, and I think that's pretty interesting. While I adore squirrels, and I like observing them (they always look suspicious, looking around like they're doing something they shouldn't), there weren't a whole lot of options. The squirrels just need to know to stay away from the 13 y.o. 16 lb. orange tabby with cancer (supposedly... I have my doubts).

I hope my orange little guy lives for a very long time. forever.

Ooh. One more thing. This late 16th century French wood engraving has given me an idea for a tattoo. I want to work it into a larger piece that I would need help designing. I would like to include some Comanche (or "Nerm," as... well, it sounds stupid saying "my people" since I'm only a quarter Comanche, but... as we who have Comanche blood like to call ourselves? I don't know) elements around the main figure. I want the woman represented as she is, and I definitely want the severed arm included. It just struck me when I saw it. You know how you see an image and you think, "Wow." That's what happened to me, and it doesn't happen all that often. I think the last time it happened was when I saw Cy Twombly's Leda and the Swan in person. It really doesn't look like much online. You have to see it up close to get the full impact of the canvas. It's just so angry, and it almost chokes you when you look at it... If you don't know anything about Leda and the Swan, I'll sum it up for you: Greek Gods have jealous wives, so they often disguised themselves by taking the form of an animal. In Leda's case, Zeus took a liking to her, transformed himself into a giant swan, and raped her. I think you need to know that background in order to fully understand what's going on in the painting.

I suppose I could get abstract art tattooed on my back, but... No. I really like the engraving, though. At that time Europeans had understood America and its native people in two ways: They were either fanciful, and the land was a paradise, or they were vicious, barbaric creatures. I think this woodcut illustrates the paradoxical understanding many Europeans had at the time. Here is this classically, ideally beautiful and strong woman with long, flowing hair, only she's holding a decapitated head in one hand with a spear in the other, and there's a severed arm at her feet. I can't really tell you why it caused such a strong, visceral reaction in me, so strong that I want it permanently inked onto my skin, but it does, and I do want it. I think I'll wait, though. Besides, I need to gather the funds first and find an artist who can design some flashwork for me (as I said, I want the figure to be a part of a slightly larger piece -- maybe a sleeve or a back piece?), and I also want to think it over for a year. If it's been a year, and I still want that warrior woman inked onto my skin, then I'll find the funds necessary for a really good artist's custom work. If you're inclined to look, here is a bigger version.