Tuesday, September 30, 2003


I called my dad late last night to get the news on his little sick cat and, believe it or not, she's feeling better. I was sure that he was going to tell me he had to put her to sleep while I was out of town. She's still very ill and will probably won't live very long, but she has perked up, has begun sleeping well and is trying to play a little. She doesn't seem to be suffering, but is depressed from losing her sense of equilibrium--a key skill for a nimble little kitty. So, other than being on the verge of bankruptcy, everything is going better than expected the last few days for me. Feelin' pretty good today. :-) Have a great one--and again, thanks for all the encouraging and supportive words.

Monday, September 29, 2003

happy mush-brain

Well, the show went better than expected! I was hoping to break even with all the expenses, but did a lot better. So, for my first big show, I was really pleased. After being so uptight and nervous for weeks over this I am just a blob of mental goo. I took the day off from the corporate job to recover because I knew I would be stupid as mud today---I was right. We got in from Nashville about midnight I guess. The weather was great and I was really honored to be in this show because I was keeping company with some really amazing artists. I lusted after everyone else's work.

I did get to stop by the Twisted Sisters booth, but they were always with a customer or I didn't see them. :-( Sorry, Paige. I felt really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really bad about not getting to say hi. I went over there a couple of times and then the next time I thought of it was break-down time on Sunday. I did get to look at their stuff--I loved it! Such creativity!

I was so nervous all weekend that I know I came across as a complete ditz. I panicked almost every time someone gave me money. Hubby and I laughed about it, but it was bad. We looked like Laurel and Hardy trying to wrap things up, write receipts and hand over the goods. I will have to get better on the business end of things!

The hats and dolls were a big hit, with the hats being the biggest seller, but the scarves did so-so. I have some more ideas I want to do with the silks anyway. I just think they weren't unique enough--and there were a lot of marblers and shibori-type stuff there, so there was a lot of competition.

I learned a lot and the other artists were incredibly friendly and helpful. It was kind of a weird experience, but really wonderful.

On the negative side, there were a couple of people who handled the hats roughly or rolled their eyes at prices or slunk off talking about how they "could do that." I would have loved to say, "Go ahead, see how much WORK it is to get your stuff out there." I think that's typical though. There weren't too many rude people and in general, everyone had a good bit of manners about them. I think some folks just don't have any social skills.

One thing I noticed at this show is that EVERYONE brought their dogs. I know some exhibitors probably hate that, but I loved it. It was a constant parade of sweet, wonderful dogs with doting owners. It really added a wonderful atmosphere to the fair. We even got to meet a Wolfhound, who was unbelieveably large. His head probably came up to my lower chest and I'm 5'7".

I'll get the pics up soon. I was such a nervous goober, I didn't take a lot (actually hubby took them). Thanks for all the encouraging comments. They really meant a lot!

Wednesday, September 24, 2003

off we go...

I'm "all ready" (notice I put it in quotation marks) to go to the Nashville show. I'm in booth 683 I think, not 163...hell, who cares. I'm so tired I could croak before tomorrow morning anyway. I don't have a Peanut update. I've decided to check with Dad tomorrow. I dread it.

Anyway, I am quite insane with fatique and now that I've figured that I'm making -$1.95 an hour doing all this, I wonder if I should have been just a normal Garanimals type of kid.

Slurp. Reports forthcoming on the TACA adventure! Unless they have internet in the hotel room, the blog will be quiet until Monday. Have a great weekend!

Tuesday, September 23, 2003

escape from Idiot World...

Calgon, take me away. Actually, I'd take a sledgehammer to the head at this point...

I still have a cold, but it's better. I'm not any less cranky today, though. I manage an online Q&A on our intranet and I have to constantly defend its existence to management. I just got off the phone with a dingleberry who is constantly trying to get it torn off the intranet because he doesn't like the anonymity of the forum. You can't micromanage everyone everywhere. Sorry, buddy. I will be here for one more year and then I'm takin' a hike--a long one. I hate it when people are constantly squished into little cookie-cutter forms. Dilbert is a little too true to life.

I had a weird dream last night where an Amtrak train, which was actually a bus, damaged my car as it was rounding a curve in the oncoming lane. I was pissed and my friends and I embarked on this long journey to find the corporate office of Amtrak and demand money for repairs. We had to travel through this underground waterway that, surprise, housed an intermediary company designed to head off PR disasters such as the one I threatened to cause. They offered us all $1,000 checks to shut up and I said "no way." We continued our journey in some sort of weird helicopter thing and was under fire from the the corporate office crony helicopters the whole way. There were dead dogs in the back of the helicopter from where the corporate guys had used them as PR mascots and had discarded them after they were through. They all had rigor mortis. I think I woke up before I got to the main offices, but I always like it when I have a dream where I'm determined to not give into CRAP (Corporate-types Ruining Authentic People). And yes, I just made that up. Pretty good, huh? Yeah, whatever.

I'm sure I'll find something else to bitch about before the day is over. Clog up my sinuses and see me turn into an instant monster.

Monday, September 22, 2003

it's foggy out there...

No, wait it's my head that's foggy. This head cold is making me stupid. Really.

Sometimes I open my blog and I look at it. I don't do anything with it--I just look at it and ponder the whole concept of narcissism. It's a self-portrait you know--of sorts. Sometimes it's ugly or sad, or funny, or goofy, or happy. It's just like me--a mixed up bag of goofball-ishness.

Sometimes I open my blog and I look at it for a different reason--to procrastinate. Sometimes I blog to avoid, to suppress, to distract, to disguise my fingers with work-like motion or to think when I don't feel like thinking.

But I can only think foggy things today. And it's making me stupid.

p.s. I called my dad to check on Peanut. Her condition has not changed. She is still hunkered down in her little house, purring and refusing food and water, except for the smallest amounts.

Now, if you'll excuse me I need to go cough until my lungs are violently expelled through my nostrils.


I am pro-choice, but I'm not sure what to think about this. There's lots of information missing in this story, but it causes me great concern.

California Teen Dies After Taking Abortion Pill

It's worth noting that the information was put out by the Family Research Council, but that doesn't mean it's bad information. Like I said, I think there's lots of MISSING medical information in the story that I would like to know about.

So much for "not much blogging" today or tomorrow. I must be officially addicted to e-chatting with myself.


I think public relations has dulled my love of writing. You'd think that getting into a career where you get to write on a daily basis would just give you fuel, but in this case it hasn't. I have a history with my company, one where I've seen insensitive layoffs, large mergers and other corporate-type stuff. Yay for the bottom-line I guess, but I feel more and more like one of the nameless rabble with a barcode pasted to my forehead. Then again, it could be that 13 years is too long to stay anywhere. Maybe I'm just wiped out from this stupid head cold (and newly welcomed cramps to make things really fun) and hate the world today.

On another depressing note, I can't quit thinking about my Dad and Peanut. I wonder if she made it through the night. I will call a little later to check in.

Boo-freakin'-hoo. I could keep complaining for entertainment's sake, but golly-gosh-darn-it, I just don't think I will. Besides, it's time for lunch, throughout which I will get to study for tomorrow night's class. Boo-freakin'-hoo.

Sunday, September 21, 2003

what a day...

I'm still feeling kind of crappy with the head cold, but I managed to get quite a bit done. I visited with my dad for a few minutes today and looked in on little Peanut. She is very sick and has quit drinking and barely eats. My father is really struggling with the pain of losing this pet and knows that the end is near. If she continues to worsen, he will put her to sleep. This little cat warmed my father's heart--a man who always keeps his distance, even in family relationships. It's really hard to see him torn up like this. I am trying to give as much support as he will allow. On another dad-subject, you wouldn't believe the row boat he built. He gave it to me today--I will post pics of it when I get more time. I am planning to make a grumpy fisherman figure for the boat and return it to him as a Christmas present. I think he will like that. I would like to add Peanut (with some little angel wings) to the boat; having her eating the fisherman's catch, but it depends on how painful the end is for the poor little kitty. We'll see.

Hubby helped get the product tags done tonight and we went out and got some fabric to cover the tables for the show. Mom finished the shelves and I got some paint, lattice and stuff from Home Depot to finish the display. I haven't been able to get my studying in, which may prove to be painful when class rolls around Tuesday night. I will keep trying to get it all in. Work is going to be nutty this week, too.

There won't be much blogging over the next couple of days and none from Wednesday through Sunday because I'll be in booth #163 at the TACA fair in Nashville. Mom is the live-in zookeeper while we're away (thanks ma!). Come see me in Centennial Park. This is a big deal for me, so wish me luck. I'm nervous.

Have a great week!


Here's my little mad scientist man in process. He's a mixed media doll. His head is clay over cloth and painted with acrylics. His body is cloth. I'll be adding arms, hands that are clay over cloth, a long mad scientist frock/vest, a crooked bow tie, crazy hair made from mohair (goat), embellish his pants with a cuff and add some nerdy shoes. He'll be holding a test tube full of strange-looking stuff. It's been something fun and different to do.

Saturday, September 20, 2003

thank you ladies and gentlemen...

Thanks for the feedback on the blog. :-)

It's getting close to the fine craft show in Nashville and with school, work and the show on my mind at the same time I'm going berserk with anxiety. So, to make things easier on me, I have come down with a nasty head cold. Can you believe it? Right at the last push. It's bad enough I'll have to battle through cramps next week to boot. I have given myself the day off for the most part and have been a slug. I am unshowered. I am fevered. I probably stink. I do not care. That's pretty much the synopsis of my life today. Well, that's not completely true...I did work on a clay over cloth figure. It's a mad scientist with quite a set of googly eyes. I'll post a pic later. Hubby's pal from LA is in town, so they're own carousing while I sit here with the plague feeling sorry for myself. Sadie is whining hysterically at me (the dog at the top left) while I type. Either she wants out or she wants my undivided attention. "Wanna go out?" The ears went up, so I guess I'll be back later... *snort* *sniff* *groan* etc.

Thursday, September 18, 2003

where'da kitty go mama?

If you kindly little ole' readers don't mind....I would like to know if the kitty in the bottom right corner of the screen is getting gobbled up by the blog block. In one browser I can't get the kitty (which is Atticus) and in another the layout is just fine with the blog entry portion stopping flush with the headline "hatamaran." Ahh, to be a geek. I won't get to check the site until tomorrow night, so hack up a little survey response for me, eh?

hoo boy...

Do you feel like maybe this is not your DECADE? In PR, printing disasters can REALLY ruin your day.
One good thing though is that doggie daddy is taking Pickles to get her stitches out this afternoon. She's as good as new and feisty as ever.

lunch play...

Playing at lunch...when I should be getting out of the building since I have no windows it is a PERFECT day. Dummy. Anyway, I have been noodling with a more personalized layout for the blog. I hope it works on everyone's browsers. Let me know if it looks like poop. I saved the old layout "just in case." I think this one is a little neater. I'm sure I'll change it again in a few months. I'm just barely learning about CSS, so this is my first real experiment with it.

Wednesday, September 17, 2003


Thanks for all the nice bloggie-notes. I made it home with the gas I had--with the light coming on as I pulled into the driveway. Ha! I win again!

clear for landing...

Well, I can't figure out why I feel happy today. I have no money in my account. I barely have enough gas to get back home after work. I'm saving my only 85 cents to get a diet coke out of the machine and eat some crackers out of the snack box for lunch (to which I must write an IOU). Times are uber-rough. My dad offered to help a little so at least we won't have to sleep in the car when we go to Nashville at the end of the month for the craft show.

But, you know, I feel happy today. Nothing is going right at work on top of things--but I feel okay. Between talking at our "process group" in group intervention class last night and knowing that my husband is there for me--well, that's the fuel I need -->Meaningful connections<-- So I guess I do know why I feel so much better today. Barring running out of gas on the way home, today should be a good day. I get paid tomorrow, thank goodness. I guess Karma has to pinch you in the butt every once in a while to make sure you're still paying attention. (Note to Karma-beast: I'm processing it all, I promise.)

Tuesday, September 16, 2003


I am not better today. I couldn't sleep. When I slept, I slept poorly. I got way too upset over things yesterday, but I think I was so stressed out over so many things, that I just got pushed over the edge. I konked out altogether. I had to come in to work late; on a day that was full with deadlines. Whether or not is was counterproductive or not, I just rusted up and came to a halt. No one asked how I was when I got here. I could project a thousand feelings about that: she's a slacker; she's losing it; she's a bad employee; she's having a hard time; she's depressed; she's lazy; she's this; she's that; or even I don't know what to say to her because I don't know what's going on. But multiple choice is as far as I'm going to go today, because I don't have enough energy, and have no desire, to play that self-destructive mindgame with myself.

Today will have to be just a day on the way to tomorrow, which I hope will be somewhat better.

Monday, September 15, 2003

boy, I have been a mess today...

This has been a rotten type of Monday. My husband emails me this morning says his lips were blue when he woke up. What?!! He has tons of heart disease running in his family so I asked him if he had called the doctor and he said yes, but the first appointment is in two weeks.

Me: "Did you tell them what is wrong?"

Him: "No."

Me: "()#$*@)$$)(*#($*@#(#*@^##%()*_*()#%!!!! I'm going to call your doctor back right now and you are going to the doctor."

Him: "Hmmm. Okay"

(Note to men: Please take care of yourselves. It takes years off of our lives.)

So, now I'm a basketcase. I have to practically fight with the answering service to speak to someone who knows his chart. They are so unbelievably rude. I still couldn't get through to a real person and had to leave a message on the nurse line. Finally, they called me back with an appointment for him at 3 p.m. today.

In the meantime, my dad calls and tells me Peanut, his "stray cat that he's just feeding because it doesn't have a home," has been in the animal hospital for two weeks with a severe tumor inside her ear. She had surgery, but she's not expected to last long. Now my dad is a real-life loner, and this silly little cat that probably doesn't mean much to anyone else is his only real daily companion. He has been a lot happier with her around and as stoic as my dad can be I could still hear his heart breaking over the phone.

So, this makes me sad on top of being worried and then I think "when it rains it pours" and this day is going to get progressively worse.

Thankfully, my husband did call me a few minutes ago and said there seemed to be no problem and that his heart sounded fine. The doctor wasn't sure what had caused it unless it was the severe chapped lips he's been suffering from. Apparently they've gotten so chapped they are bruised.

You'd think this was a hormone problem. But it's not. Blue lips usually means there's not enough oxygen in your blood, which means there might be a serious heart problem.

Now I'm relieved/exhausted/sad/psuedo-worried. Actually I was exhausted before this day ever happened.


I am going to lose my mind...

It could not be more of a Monday. Just tie me to a fucking stake and burn me now.

Sunday, September 14, 2003

Happy Anniversary!

Today is my seventh wedding anniversary. We are both still alive and talking to one another, so it's going great! The first five years were pure hell. Now, things are getting better and better. I think we're gonna make it. ;-)

creepy things that aren't supposed to be creepy...

I don't know why but I get creeped out by the ice cream van that travels our neighborhood. I just heard it coming down the street, playing its little electronic tune to lure the nearby children, except no one comes. The music pauses and a recorded woman's voice calls out "hello!"; then the music starts again. The van passes by the house and leaves a trail of distorted warbling that sounds like an evil caliope in a Night Gallery episode. Who applies for an ice cream van driver job anyway? Someone who likes kids? Evil clowns who are out of work? Former circus performers who are too claustrophobic to work in the tent anymore? Undercover operatives of the American Dental Association? I don't know, but I just don't like that van. Other than that, I like ice cream.

Saturday, September 13, 2003

no apparent brain activity...

Thanks to a variety of highly impaired individuals, The Passionate Ailurophile has gone to a password-protected site. I may receive a password from her or not. I really enjoyed reading her blog, but the morons invaded with their tacky, stinky little loin cloths and ruined the fun. Poor little things must have only one slimy, withered little dendrite with which to work. Speaking of work, I have to return to it.

Friday, September 12, 2003

harlequin testicles...

Rooney, who has suddenly become completely fascinated by the surprising comforts of this cardboard box in the dining room, is showing off his yin and yang. His testicles are perfectly colored in his naturally complementary colors. One is white (oops, Rooney has corrected me--it's "fresh eggshell") and the other is that cute little caramel color. Since he is a Manx and naturally has no tail, I get to see his little multi-colored testicles cha-cha around the house all the time. I think they're just cute as can be.

there's no blood in my fingers...

I type therefore there must be SOME blood in my fingers. Sometimes the office gets so chilly my hands just hurt. I've always been blessed with cold hands and cold feet any time the temperature drops below 80 degrees. I wish I had the nerve to knit up some gloves, but I'm just too lazy to do the fingers. Maybe I'll just knit up some wrist warmers for the winter.

Like I have time.

I come home from work, eat, stare at the wall for a few minutes and dye, sew or felt all night. Over the last week it's been all dyeing, and I've only gotten out to walk once. I also have to squeeze in about 250 pgs. of textbook study and take an online quiz that I have, get this, 3 hours to complete. If it takes 3 hours, it should be an EXAM. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

Hubby gets to go to the Fleetwood Mac concert tonight thanks to a free ticket from his boss. So it's work friends night out for him WHILE I WORK MY BUTT OFF. But I am happy for him. It's my own fault. I bit off more than I could chew and now I have to chew until I'm done. Bleh. Tired. I will try to eventually get some pics up of the silks. I was especially pleased with one shibori piece I finished up last night.

I am in a panic over the figures. I really can't expect to turn out more than one or two more before the TACA fair. They take lots of detailed construction, noodling, embellishment, etc. And I don't want to take stuff that is less than what I usually present. There are too many things to do--redo biz cards, make nicer looking tags, finish display shelving, bleh, bleh, BLEH!!!!! Ack. I have to quit talking about it or my brain will totally freeze up.

Oh yeah, and I have a job to do, which reminds me I should get back to work. I have a publication to get out. Ahhhhhh!

goodbye, we will miss you...

A sad goodbye to John Ritter and Johnny Cash.

Thursday, September 11, 2003

well, that's that...

I decided to delete my breathy post on 9-11. I found that my words were terribly inadequate and on the verge of being insipid. What I would have needed to write to really express all the facets of my sadness today would have been longer than The Brothers Karamazov (War and Peace seemed a little trite). So, I got rid of it to honor the real complexity of the day.


I'm sure this is a temporary post, but...it's overwhelming. Thanks Bubba.

Wednesday, September 10, 2003

clinical goodie bag...

Yesterday I was really wound up and anxious. Today I am better.

Last night in group intervention class I was able to work through some things that had really been looming heavy over my head--mainly how to deal with long-term disappointment with work and feeling trapped in a profession that no longer fits my goals. Even though this is a class where we learn the complex functions of group work, we are lucky to benefit from the experiential training of doing group with classmates. It's a real group where we talk about real issues. I never really knew much about group work, but I am finding it to be one of the most fascinating parts of my education in clinical social work. I think every person in the class is finding the group rewarding. We spend the first half of the 3-hour class in lecture and then conduct group for the last half of class. Confidentiality is taken very seriously and we are told (and reminded repeatedly) that if we share anything from the group outside that room we will immediately be terminated from the entire program. I can talk about my own experiences but not those of others.

My other class, psychopathology, is always interesting as well. We began the class watching videos of various people who had Alzheimer's Disease. Three people at various stages of the disease were given a mental status exam with questions as simple as "show me how you brush your teeth with your left hand." One gentleman, who was only 54 years old and had been a chemical engineer, could not complete that command. He didn't know the year, his age, what year he was born in and couldn't draw a clock face. He was confused by almost everything the interviewer said.Others in the videotape were not as advanced in the disease, but would suddenly show agitation or sadness about not being able to remember things. One man would suddenly become so agitated that he was shaking the table and looked as though he would become violent. It was a heart-breaking eye-opener to the devastating effects of Alzheimer's.

This Sunday is my 7th anniversary...and we haven't killed each other yet!!! Love you snook'ums.

Tuesday, September 09, 2003

tales from the leash...

I forgot to mention an odd occurrence last night. I was taking Sadie for a long walk to curb her alpha-dog behavior upon being reintroduced to Pickles (everything is complicated at our house) and I passed a couple of ladies with their small children. There were some interesting things to observe.

One lady was pushing a stroller, the other had one of those leash/harness things on her approximately 2 year old boy. The little boy had done something wrong and the stroller bitch--er, I mean lady, grabbed the boy's arm and gave him a very stern talking to for at least a couple of minutes, giving his tiny arm a hard shake now and then. I thought it was pretty excessive for a 2 year-old. His attention-span probably expired after the first 10 seconds of her blabbing in his face anyway.

First of all, the harness the kid had on had straps about 2 inches wide and would have held back a team of Siberian tigers. For cripe's sake, the kid is only as tall as two-drawer file cabinet; not to mention we were within an enclosed park and the lady holding the "leash" didn't even have a stroller to tend to and was walking normally. I felt bad for him as I passed--at least Sadie had a retractable leash that allowed her to explore a bit here and there. What is up with these people? I can maybe see it in a busy airport or if you are physically unable to keep up with a child, but????

After being angrily bitched out, the little boy started to cry and Sadie, the most independent "I don't need your opinion or anyone else's" dog in the world stopped dead in her tracks and turned around and stared at me. It's so weird how dogs react to children's cries. I said, "It's okay Sadie," and she turned right back around and trotted on with her hound nose to the ground. I've never seen her ask me a question like that before and it startled me. I also know that I probably lied to her.

Monday, September 08, 2003

poor little pickles...

Well, Pickles came home groggy, with stitches (see the photo to the left; click for full size) and equipped with a bottle full of antibiotics. There's nothing worse than seeing an animal post-sedation. They are so pitiful. She's gotten the royal princess treatment all evening complete with a couple licks of ice cream. I took Sadie for a long walk to calm her nerves down so she wouldn't get pissy about the whole unscheduled event. Pickles is laying in bed with daddy as we speak. She's still really tired from the anesthesia. Usually she is bouncing off the walls, so it's sad to see her all exhausted. I think she's going to be just fine though. The bill was $120 which wasn't that bad except I'm broke and now even more broke than before. Sheesh, we're squeaking by. Bleh on that! Pickles, honey, you're worth every dime and more.

I got some good news tonight. I was accepted into the Foothills Craft Guild for my handfelting! That will allow me to get into some more fine craft shows. I really never thought I could do this kind of stuff and actually get recognition for it. Pretty cool. Yippee and hurrah!

Well, I'd chat more, but I have a paper to finish for class and it's due tomorrow. Later 'taters.

playing ‘possum and alpha dog woes…

This morning I took Pickles to the vet for her ‘possum-inflicted wounds. It’s always a chore to take Pickles somewhere without Sadie getting all bent out of shape. Sadie has major alpha-dog issues, so I had to let her in for "inside time" and then make the switch and let Pickles in, then leash her and leave. They can’t come in the house together because Sadie gets so jealous of Pickles that she will start a fight. It started about two years after we added Sadie to the pack. I took her to a great behaviorist, Dr. Shull, at the UT vet school and she helped me learn alpha dog language so we could control the situation. We’ve been conflict-free for quite some time now. When I get Pickles home today Sadie will be very pissed that she got to go somewhere (even if it was to the vet).

Speaking of the vet, they are going to have to sedate Pickles to clean out her wounds (poor baby). I had no idea opossums had such long, vicious teeth! She was so stinky this morning that I’m going to have her bathed at the vet as well. Maybe that’s money I shouldn’t have spent, but she has a fit when we bathe her at home and afterward runs straight to a dirt pile and rolls in it. If she’s inside she runs straight to the couch and does the same thing…and you never totally can get the stink out of this dog. But, stinky or not---she’s one of the sweetest dogs in the world--and a daddy's girl to boot.

Sunday, September 07, 2003

see more...

See Always Write's trip to Quebec. Beautiful place; beautiful photography.

urine, be gone! amen.

The exorcist has visited our house (sorry Barry, I have dibs) and the cat pee smell has been delivered from the soul of our dwelling. Read: My mom found it. She spent some time with me this weekend and she was the lucky miner who found the gold nugget. The area rug is no longer in the area and Frantic-Scrub-Down-Operation '03 is complete. We can breathe again. Still no clues on who the offender was. But, I'm watching--just like George.

BUT, just to make Sunday night exciting, the dogs attacked an opossum that unluckily wandered into our backyard. During the ensuing battle, Pickles was bitten on the side of the face. I flushed the wound out, but it looks like a vet trip for antibiotics tomorrow to prevent possumitis. Aie!

I was going to post photos of all the silks I dyed over the weekend, but I'm too damn tired. Photos forthcoming.


Saturday, September 06, 2003

no soup for you!

That's right...all work, no play today. I've been wrapping, stitching and dyeing all day--making stuff for the TACA fair in Nashville at the end of the month. Considering how freakin' tired I am I have precious little to show for it, but I have a pole full of arashi bound silk that can't come off for at least 24 more hours or more, so I guess I am just impatient. The dyeing happens fast compared to the felting and figure-making (the slowest). When I need somewhat immediate gratification I dye; when I need to work out anger and get physical, I felt; when I'm in need of serious "existential tuning," as one person put it, I work on figures. My different stages of heaven depend on how long my attention span is for the day.

I didn't get to go the local blogger get together last night. Hubby was out-of-town and I'm not enough of an extravert to just show up at a table full of strangers. But I did go to my first "gallery reception" where my stuff was being displayed. It was weird quite frankly. I almost had to make myself stay. Thank goodness Michelle showed up because I was getting itchy in my own skin. I felt like I was walking around in my underwear. Michelle took pity on me and bought me dinner to celebrate (thanks, M!!!). That was so cool of her, especially considering I don't have a freakin' dime right now. I mean, if it ain't necessary, I don't buy it. I know this dry spell is temporary, but it's tough and at times, scary.

So, on the way home from the reception, this 95-pound college chick in a big red SUV cuts me off. This really irritated me since we were all going to stop at the red light anyway and there was plenty of space behind me. So I pull up right behind her, lips pursed, cussing under my breath. The light turns green and apparently she's not too good with a clutch. She rolls back a little. Then a little more, then SMACK--right into me. I honk my horn. She pulls her little 95 pound ass off into a church parking lot and we get out. Luckily, the bump did no damage, and since I did not feel like dealing with this shit, I say "don't worry about it." She's repeating, "I'm so sorry" in a very practiced tone, like please don't tell my dad, he'll make me pay for something. I just want to go home you know? It's been a weird day. So, we get back into our cars and I'll be damned if she didn't almost run into me again going through the parking lot. On the way home she pulled off into some very expensive fat-daddy-subsidized college apartments.

Today I get up and our mailbox has received it's monthly beating, except this time it's nearly twisted off its pole with the actual box being totally upside down. I keep trying to figure out how I can set up a booby trap for these boobs, but I can't come up with anything that's feasible and legal, so I have to let it go.

And I still can't figure out where the cat pee smell is coming from. I've had the windows open all day trying to air the place out.

Note to self: take big red and white target off back.

Friday, September 05, 2003

someone is angry...

I think one of my cats is campaigning against me. The downstairs smells like ammonia, you know, cat pee. I admit I have logged a lot of doggie time recently and the cats have not gotten their usual brushings (which they love), but, jeez, do they have to pee on my stuff? Too bad they don't have opposable thumbs; they could make use of a complaint box and just LET ME KNOW what I've done wrong.
What's worse is that I can smell it, but I can't find it. It's just around, wafting, making me nauseous. For some reason I think it's Atticus because he's been meowing like a mad kitty lately-"gimme this...gimme that...pick me up...let me have some of that...pick me up...now...now! NOW!!!"

The Suspects:


Age: 11

Make: male feline

Model: orange domestic

Criminal Tendencies: Chewing into coffee bags, chewing through treat bags, peeling caps from treat canisters and gorging himself (and puking it back up), getting miffed if other cats come around while he's getting his "mommy-time," tripping you by making "crazy eights" around your legs anytime you head toward the kitchen, stealing socks by the dozens as soon as the lights go out, trying to get into the laundry chute, opening cabinet doors and hiding in the recesses of storage, staring at you while you are on the loo, sitting in chairs at the table while you eat and begging like he's going to die without a bite of your dinner, chewing on really noisy plastic bags, attacking the other cats after inhaling catnip or getting brushed.


Age: 13

Make: male feline

Model: white, obese, deaf, domestic cat

Criminal Tendencies: Puking a lot, lying across your face while you sleep and thereby suffocating you or depositing large amounts of cat hair in your nostrils and/or mouth, purring insanely loud directly into your ear, yowling deaf-cat-yowls in the middle of the night, scrubbing his face and teeth on the wrought iron headboard as soon as the lights go out (clunk-clink-clank-clink-snort-slurp-purrrrr-r-r-rr) until you have gone quite mad, sneezing snot across your face, commandeering your pillow the moment your head moves from it, pooping just over the edge of the litter box (he stands in the box, but isn't quite aware where the chute is aimed), sleeping and depositing hair all over fresh laundry, chasing the dogs and giving them the spread-paw pffwwwwaaap!


Age: 10

Make: male feline

Model: white and tan Manx

Criminal Tendencies: Slobbering in your hair while you sleep, "making biscuits" in your hair while you sleep (i.e. ripping your hair OUT), licking wildly, sneezing snot on your face, meowing constantly until you pick him up (for as long as it takes), jumping up on EVERYTHING, staring until you give in, sneaking out the door, butting up against your black pants and leaving a giant swath of white hair, attacking the other cats with the bear-hug-takedown tactic, fighting the sheets while you put them on the bed, whining and giving the dogs a wimpy smack before running away in protest.


Age: 9

Make: male feline

Model: grey, brown, black domestic (we suspect some Maine Coon)

Criminal Tendencies: Boring inch-deep holes into your leg when startled, staring at your face from 1 1/2 inches away in the morning and effectively scaring the shit out of you when you first open your eyes, refusing to eat the "soft" treats and waiting to the side for his special little pile of tartar control crunchy treats, impatient meowing while you brush your teeth because he knows his breakfast is next--"hurry up, you slob, I'm hungry!!" Hiding for an hour at a time just so he can watch you run around in a tearful panic searching for him, hogging the catnip by laying himself spread-eagle across the entirety of the stash, and last but not least, torturing moles and bringing them to you as presents.


Last night I sent in a contribution to the EYE Want My Country Back project that A Moveable Beast is doing. I felt a little weird about it, but I think I'm glad I did it. It's a real experience I had in a social work class called Oppression a couple of years ago. We often had guests from other cultures come in and I will never forget the Guatemalan man who came and spoke to us. He talked about how thousands of his fellow Guatemalans had been slaughtered by his country's terrorist regime. The atrocities he spoke of were so horrible that it made me sick to my stomach. I had never heard of such evil before and tears rolled down my face. Then I learned that many of these terrorist leaders were trained at School of the Americas, Fort Benning, Georgia.

The speaker was a boy when his community was attacked and he had barely escaped with his life. He described running away from the scene with his friend but his friend fell behind. He no longer has family. That was the first time I really felt compelled to learn anything about foreign policy. I have always hated politics and I still do, but it was obvious to me that I needed to know and understand more. I really wish I had either taken copious notes or had recorded the presentation he made because there are more important details I can't remember. It left me heartsick for weeks. We are so spoiled here, intoxicating ourselves with media candy, play and luxuries. It's so easy to not pay attention. EYE need to pay more attention.

Thursday, September 04, 2003

linky-dinky parlez-vous?

I moved some links around, which means I UNblogrolled some folks so I could make a separate list for the Rocky Top Brigade. And I AIN'T paying for Blogrolling Gold... So, if you actually care, don't get your panties in a wad---you're still there, you just got relocated about 500 pixels south...

state of the dream address…

I have always paid close attention to my dreams. I was plagued with nightmares nearly every night of my life until I was about 30 years old, so I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. My dreams during this time made reading Stephen King a real bore. Of course, the dreams were all related to the unresolved conflicts I had about my family, the ensuing absence of self-esteem and real despair. The more I worked through my “stuff,” the fewer dreams I had. Now I only have a nightmare every two or three months and only during difficult times. Back in those days, it was almost like going to the cinema every night, but like most scary movies, you were left with an uneasy jumpy feeling for all of your waking hours. Since I knew nothing but nightmarish slumber in my younger years, I didn’t know what it was like to be at ease from a good night’s sleep. I also had severe insomnia. Although my psyche was under attack most nights, I did find the dreams fascinating and very informative in the healing process.

Last night I did have my requisite quarterly nightmare (which is nothing compared to the ones I used to have). I dreamed that I was dying. I was in a hospital bed and a homogenized-type of dream-friend came to see me. He brought Tarot cards because he thought they would be entertaining. Unfortunately, he wasn’t smart enough to take the death card out and it came up in every layout of the cards. Gee, thanks, asswipe. I was also undergoing treatment for my ear which, in real life, has been giving me lots of trouble. One team of nurses gave me one treatment, while the next two nurses said that the first two were incompetent and proceeded to provide another type of treatment. When I got out of the doctor’s office, everyone in my husband’s family was there. They weren’t there for me, but by way of the fact that they can’t operate as separate people. I got angry and stomped off, yelling and making everyone mad. I drove myself home and stranded my husband at the hospital. Then, suddenly I was running home in shorts and a t-shirt with shoes that hurt my feet. I put plastic bags in them for cushion, so I was running down the road with plastic bags fluttering about my ankles.

The dreams I used to have would be so frightening I would have panic attacks. I would dream that family members were crucified in the back yard, that my mother would decay before my very eyes, that people would be cutting off my limbs with big scissors…you name it. I’m glad those days are gone. Now I have flying dreams; dreams where I am the hero and punch the bad guy out, etc. Dreams say a lot about your state of mind.

If I could now only stop daydreaming at work.

Wednesday, September 03, 2003

who knew I'd get to wear it twice?

This was a t-shirt I bought during the first Bush campaign. Who knew I'd get to wear it again with no alterations?

Stevie cuts hair...

A couple of nights ago I had a dream about Stevie Wonder. He was cutting my hair at a salon! The funny thing was, he was so intuitive with his hands that he gave me the best haircut of my life. Last night I was walking back to my car with a couple of my group intervention classmates and I told them about the dream. One of them said, "the analyst in me wants to ask you, 'What part of you is Stevie Wonder?'" The other said, "Her hands! She is an artist." Hee.

I cry foul on this one...

"So George, how do you feel about your mom and dad? Psychologist Oliver James analyzes..."

This article really makes me angry! I hate Bush, too, but to use your professional status to denigrate a public figure is just heinous in my opinion. Many people will take this psychologist's OPINION as gospel because of his professional training. I am really appalled that this person who is trained to HELP people would make a public statement of this sort. He may have a personal take on Bush's wacky psyche, but that doesn't belong in the news media as some sort of diagnosis. If the article was peppered with "probably," "may have," "this psychologist's opinion," etc., I would be LESS appalled. Has this psychologist spent hundreds of hours speaking directly with Bush? No. He doesn't know him within the intimate context of individual therapy. I think this is wrong, wrong, wrong. My ethics alarm has gone off and is shattering glass...

Hat tip: A Moveable Beast for the link to the article...

Tuesday, September 02, 2003

Well, now I can't complain...we had a pizza buffet. So, now I'm fat, but fairly happy.
And what the hell is up with the blog layout. One day it's fine, the next day it's gone berserk...same browser and no changes to the template. Oh, the worries of a wanna-be geek. Grrrrrrrr.

oh well...

Turns out we were too lazy to even walk down to Boomsday. Who cares? We missed a few mullets and screaming kids. I got some studying done, which was well overdue.

So, living consciously can suck, despite the beauty in can bring to your life. You can be quite unhappy when you are working against the grain. I am working against the grain. Until I can move on, I will be working against the grain. It really wears me down...not to mention being incredibly broke along with it. We have our staff meeting today, which means I get to go to a restaurant that has probably has no vegetarian options and pay $10 for it. That's a $10 I don't have right now. It just adds to my irritation.

My husband has finally found a job he really loves. He never dreads work and doesn't come home and complain for hours on end like he used to. It's great and I am really happy for him. I just wish I could be in that same position.

Oh, whatever. Woe, blergh is me.

Monday, September 01, 2003

on another note...

I did, after much scrambling, get my stuff to the Art Market for the month-long show. It was funny. I took five hats, three scaves and two large figures and it looked like almost nothing set up in the display. I have a lot of work to do before I go to the show in Nashville (at the end of the month--eeeek!)

Today is Boomsday in Knoxville. It draws, what, 200,000 people? I can't remember---all I know is you can't "stir them with a stick." We are lucky that we can just take a 1 1/2 mile walk and plop down a blanket to watch. Then we go home. Another Boomsday will have come and gone. My husband doesn't even like fireworks. I love them. He watches people, counts mullets and makes note of possible serial killers.

and more...

I emailed a note at the website of Charlie Russell and Maureen Enns. Although it didn't change anything, I had to express some response. Here's the email I got back with my short note at the end:

Dear Teresa:
Thank you for your kind message. We have received overwhelming support from the public and it has made the disappointment and outrage a little easier because you share it with us.

Thanks for your support!

Paula Oswald

Teresa Nolen Pratt wrote:

You don't know me, but I just read what happened to the bears. I can't begin to express my disgust, horror and sadness at such an event. You were doing something wonderful. I am so sorry it ended in this way. Words are just inadequate, but I had to send a note of condolences. My heart goes out to you during this terrible time of sorrow. Teresa

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