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I should be writing a L.com blog, but all I can think about is me, me, me. So I'm hoping a little purging will do the trick, since the coffee doesn't seem to be working.

The long and short of it, I live in New Orleans now. I'm not sure why, except for good intentions...and you know what they say about good intentions. I do feel like I was meant to come here, but I can't help thinking that the reason I was meant to come here is now no longer an option. On a semi-related note, I've discovered the wonders of biology cannot be overridden and try as I might, my stupid body wants to make another body. It's a weird thing, to be ok with this. It was for the best, but I can't help but thing it would have been a good thing actually. Extremely difficult, time and fund-consuming, but I think it would have been ok, better than ok. And that scares the shit out of me, has me flailing in muddy waters. What the fuck am I doing? I'm 30 years old (soon to be 31) and living out of two suitcases for a job that pays $7 an hour. Yes, it's a job that I believe in (I work for the Gulf Restoration Network until the 22nd), but what happens after that, I haven't the slightest. I thought it would be easy to lose myself here, to focus on other people. Instead I'm finding it hard to concentrate on anything but myself right now. Maybe it's just today, the lack of sleep, the confusion and yes, sadness, of separating from someone I feel close to, but know there is no future with. Fucking scales and our need for a union. It shows up at the most inconvenient times.

Maybe that'll clear some blockage. I'm sure that all made perfect sense.
But fuck you guys, I don't write this for you....ok, for some of you.
And I'm just kiddin' about the "fuck you" part.
OR AM I.
dun Dun DUN!
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But damn I miss sleeping with you.

huh.

Jun. 9th, 2008 11:36 pm
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I thought this didn't make the cut (probably shouldn't have), but if you wanna hear me feel like I'm a) not drunk enough and b) out of my element, go here.
Man, I'll never get used to hearing myself on tape. It gets better further in, I think.

Now, back to editing wedding photos! Not mine!
WEEEE!
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An F.
A fucking F in LIFE DRAWING class.

You dick. I know this was personal. I know this was meant to "send a message". With my attendance, I would have even understood a D, but an F, and F is just "Fuck you, Jill". I busted my ass to finish an oil painting for our last assignment, to prove I wasn't a slacker. And this is what I get? I dropped my English class, thus dropping my minor, thus negating ANY REASON for me being here this semester other than to fork over money to this fucking school and THIS is how we end it, the lowest grade I have ever received...for LIFE DRAWING. You dick. You function in an environment of creativity and expression and hover around us like a vulture with your incomprehensible wants. If attendance was such a big issue, then maybe you should have said something halfway through the class when EVERYONE was skipping out. I'd BETTER not be the only F in that class. But how will I know? I won't. And I'm 75% sure you're a big part of why I didn't get any money this year for the scholarship show.

Which is another thing. When you walk in that room after being nominated, they tell you you're probably going to get money. Past two years I've received money. This year, nothing. Two of the four professors are not my good buddies, to say the least. And I'm sure that had something to do with it.

Wow, this is NOT how I fucking wanted to end this semester. This is not how I wanted to waste some money. And now, no minor to show for it, no money, and an F. This is most likely how it will go...A, A, B, F. Dick. I'm 30 years old. I don't need your fucking "lesson".

Ugh. Whatever. After Thursday, I'm done.

p.s. don't get me wrong, there were other good things that happened this semester, like my A in Fiction II and the compliments I received from the Professor. But as far as my degree goes, as far as ART goes, I'm just tired of getting kicked in the jimmies right when I'm about to graduate. I just saw that grade posted and had to vent. No one does that...gives F's for drawing.

so....

May. 3rd, 2008 11:42 pm
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for some fucking reason I got nominated for the scholarship show again this year, which was at least 1/3rd of the stress of this past week (install was last night). I say "fucking" because I left there feeling like a sack of unartistic crap. I've been working so much with "new media", or rather digital media, this semester that I feel I have nothing to show for it. I do. I have an installation (which is what earned the nomination in the first place) and some photos (some screenprints, but eh). No paintings. No meat. All carbs. I wonder what it is, why I don't feel like a proper artist unless there's a painting involved. I should examine these thoughts. More importantly, I should paint more. But I'm not one of those painters, like Fucking Flinders, who can just churn it out, same style, same goddamned lint-digging belly-button gazing emo shitheads. Sorry, I'm just so tired of youth and art that says nothing but "look at me. buy me. I will match your couch and your sensitive ways". Fuck that shit.

So, after feeling like my work was crap, being put next to two skilled people, being given an entire fucking wall, after 3 days of 5 hours of sleep a night, I ran home, grabbed my NOLA portfolio and threw it in. It's the only thing I'm proud of really. Except the mini install, but that just tickles me, doesn't inflate me.

And now, tomorrow, I debut a painting I rushed to finish for a show I don't think I want to be part of but will do anyway because I want to show the damn painting and add another line to my g.d. resume. I wish I didn't have my hand in so many cookie jars. I'd accuse myself of being lazy, but why do I never have time for anything? I just lack focus.

I'd say I'll be glad when this next week is over, but I said that last week, and I'll say it the week after this. I'm just a little burned out is all.

Also, applied for the McColl Center residency. Got 3 awesome recommendation letters and then promptly fucked it up by rushing my letter of intent because the FedEx drop-off time was 2pm and I didn't get my ass in gear and get this done weeks ago. At least they keep those letters on file for 3 years. Ah well, off work. Time for home.

Today

Apr. 26th, 2008 07:04 pm
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Sitting outside our new ARTSpace, watching the kids from the Lawrence Arts Center play about in the field across from our front door, I heard an awesome kid-convo (they were about 8 or 9, I don't know).

Girl: When you have a baby, it has to stretch like....this big (holds up hands to about the size of a basketball).
I saw a girl's vagina once.
Boy: EWWWWW!
Girl: Yeah, it has to be like, ten centimeters.

Awesome.

And now, I'm stuck at work dying of allergies.
SERIOUSLY DYING.

OH NOES

Apr. 16th, 2008 07:06 pm
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I missed it!.
But, most likely, so did you.
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So, it"s 1:10am and every time I hit the apostrophe key it brings up the "quicksearch", hence the quotation in it"s. I hate life drawing class just about as much as I hate getting up at 7:30am to go to life drawing class. This entire weekend was spent installing my piece for our Installation Class show in the A&D Gallery and I"m guessing it paid off since Maria (aka Prof. Velasco) nominated me for the scholarship show. I"m assuming since I"m graduating, that this means if I get anything, I get to keep the money. I had written off this year"s show, really and truly. I"m fairly shocked, as well as horrified at the amount of work I"ll be needing to do in the next few months. Also, I got a grant, though small, to go to New Orleans. Essentially, it will pay for the rental car for a week. But still, not many students in the Art department got it.

It"s funny. I feel like I haven"t been doing much of anything this semester and I"m pretty peeved at myself for that, yet I"m graduating, so it"s hard to remain peeved. At any rate, it"s nice to have these little accomplishments to remind me that this IS possible. Really, it should be telling me that if I actually applied myself, I could get some serious shit done. All in good time.

Also, I"m moving from my apt. I love my apartment, but it"s near campus and I"m tired of the Woo-Woo Crew every weekend. Graduation means getting out of the student ghetto and into a 2-bedroom so I can have my own studio. Finally, Boo can come back to live with me. He"s gonna hate it, but that"s just tough crackers. I apply for a place on New Jersey (Eastside, yo) tomorrow. I pay off my debt this year, October to be exact. Just in time to start paying back student loans. But, it could be worse.
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I should be writing, to add five pages to my portfolio, boosting it from B status to A status.
But I'm not, I'm sitting here waiting for the organic, fair trade, local inspiration juice to kick in. I'll let you know when it does.

I was dating this guy, another youngin' (he'll be 26 soon), but turns out he hadn't COMPLETELY broken it off with his ex. Yay. I love being an unwitting party to drama. I said I'd never knowingly assist in the fucking over of a fellow lady-friend, but I suppose the key word here is "knowingly". I'd feel worse for her, but she was cheating on her boyfriend with Dude I Was Dating. Anyway, back to hunting....or not. I think I'm good for awhile. I miss the distraction though. I miss the fucking to be sure. And I was starting to like him. But all in all, I knew it wasn't long-term. Through my rather ignorant and rose-colored lenses, Mr. Perfect is also known as Mr. Married. No, not that one....the other one. Oddly enough, they have the same initials. Hmm.

Anyway, I can't wait to be done with school and I know I will regret not taking full advantage of this semester, but I'm finding it ever so hard to care. Friday, I'm applying for a photography internship here in town and it looks promising. I'm hoping to learn studio skillz to pay the billz while my mind wanders to distant photojournalistic places. I may buy a house. I may not. I'm 27% in love with the idea of compromising my ideals and teaching English in China and 35% in love with the idea of just heading to NOLA. I have a wedding booked for May and possibly another one in June. I've applied for a grant to go back to NOLA and I'll hear back by the end of this month. I've become the Secretary for the Lawrence Percolator (an official non-profit as of a couple months ago). I haven't painted in months, I can't make it to my 8:30am, 3-hour life drawing class to save my fuckin' life and I'm going to see The Cure the day after graduation.

Teh endz.

funnee

Mar. 1st, 2008 04:56 pm
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Who knew?

garfieldminusgarfield.

also

Feb. 15th, 2008 12:33 am
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I really need to stop saying "balls!"

Aaaaaand goodnight.

well....

Feb. 15th, 2008 12:17 am
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That pudgy little bitch strikes again.
Goddamn this holiday. Even with an anti-Valentine's Day show, I'm still home at midnight, toasty, but not overdone, yet alone. Sad sack, convinced I know the truth but it's always so.
I think it's now safe to say I successfully curated a pretty damn awesome show. Interviewed for the paper even. Impressed that they came out for it. Now I wish it were going to be up longer. I also wish that he hadn't been there. I wish I didn't still care. Why the fuck do I still care? Is my self-esteem so low that perceived rejection sits with me for months?
Mostly, I wish the other one, the perfect one, wasn't...well...you know.....

Eh, fuck it. Nothing I can do about either one.
Hang on to the good things while you can.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone.
Sleep, then ding ding ding!
Round II.
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Right now, I'm supposed to be in video class. This morning I was supposed to be drawing naked people at 8:30am. In an hour or so, I'll be missing installation class. All because I have somehow managed to swamp myself with other projects, projects unrelated to school, but related to ARTS. Jen, aren't you proud?

So yeah, I'm curating a show tomorrow, still haven't finished my piece. Artists are slackers and so help me if they don't drop their work off tonight at the designated time...unless I've heard from them already.

Friday and Saturday I'm helping with a benefit for Darfur, still have to re-do my screenprint for that. All of this in the middle of slowly losing ground in my classes. I have so much to do, but I couldn't tell you why it's so much because it's a mountain of small things. There is no relief when one is accomplished.

Then, then my mother said some disgusting things to me yesterday...not about me, but about a whole group of people. It was relentless. I'm not going to re-hash it because it only makes her look bad and she is my mother. I love her, even though she's an angry, misguided soul. I couldn't even properly describe the offensiveness of it all.

I was hoping by writing all of this, I'd feel motivated to finish my story for fiction class tonight. So far, no go, but I go anyway.

edit: also, I have been on 2 dates in the past week or so, thanks to OKCupid (also thanks to Jen). They have been...ok. I think I've got that out of my system. Need to focus on work/art/etc.

and as well...here is an interview with me for the show.

HOLY CRAP

Jan. 26th, 2008 11:47 pm
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I just spent $1900.


I....I feel....excited, yet quesy.
*shakes fist in Apple's direction*

Seriously, why does ANYTHING having to do with ART have to be twice as much as it should be? World, why do you hate us so? Are you trying to weed out the lazy bastards, the half-assed unambitious? Well, could you do it without giving me the shakes. KTHNX.

The Precioussss arrives in less than a week.
Then I shall have to start reprogramming my brain.
Let's go, brain!

Dropped my Brit Lit to 1800 class because it sucked Old English BALLS (much worse than Old Spice or English Leather BALLS). I am now taking a 600 level Shakespeare class and it is FAR SUPERIOR.
Take THAT, Chaucer. You dick.

ugh

Jan. 18th, 2008 12:36 am
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Ignore that shit.
I just need to hit the release valve every so often.
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No longer intrigued or disconnected from my own reactions, I've just grown tedious, bored with myself and night after night of facing the same pathetic and lonely demons. Is this the fucking predictable stereotype of a 30-year-old single woman?
My god, 30.

I can't stop thinking about someone who is not only not interested, at least not in a relationship, but is entirely wrong for me. This, after I've told them it wasn't a good match...and I meant it, I think. At the time. No, I'm pretty sure it isn't, but something is sticking...just can't stop thinking about a few things and all the rationalization in the world won't fix that. It's annoying, it's sad, it's incomprehensible, fingers and lips lying, over and again. I think it passes, keep busy throughout the day and then night comes and here I am again, hoping for some fucking break in the pattern. Something. Just someone to help me get through. I've never disliked nighttime this much, it's always been my favorite. But I've come home to an empty house enough. I've done that, been satisfied with that, felt strong with that enough. It's time for a change.

And it's time that is the real bitch here. Because I can't go back and undo something I didn't see coming, something stupid. Because I opened, melted, staining the carpet and he's too young, scared, and foolish to know any better. Because this person that I'd put off has put me off and I don't like being the losing party. No matter the face I put on, how I spin it, that's how it is, in the end. Time that won't move quickly enough to let it pass. Just chugging along. Amish. Stuck, patterned, disconnected. That is a horrible analogy and I apologize. But it's better than likening it to a fucking record, even if it is true.

I got my own off-campus private studio today.
That was good. But now I have to move out of the A&D building, which might require renting a truck, unless I want to carry my 5 1/2'x 6 1/2' painting there. Which I just might do. That'll be a sight. A tired, cold, frustrated girl hoofing it down Jayhawk Blvd with a massive painting of a coffin.

I have to be up in 7 hours, full day tomorrow. Still so much to do.
Feel gross. Fat.
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Goddammit....I love and hate financial aid day. I realize I shouldn't complain about having money, but shit...I do have to pay it back, someday.

I still can't decide between a MacBook Pro and a PC.

MacBook Pro because it's more geared towards what I want to do, probably better quality, and doesn't have fucking Vista. It's also $1700 for refurbished, without Photoshop, word processing, a mouse, and possibly an extended warranty. I could easily drop $2600 if not more.

OR, get a decent PC laptop, force it to swallow XP, buy PS with my educational discount. Clearly this sounds more intelligent...but MacBook pretty.

Crap.

Also, I just bought a lovely black gas mask on eBay...for ARTS <---thanks Jen. That's all I can call it now.

I've been thrown into another task...possibly two. Curating a show in February with the theme of "Exes". It's a Valentine's Day event. Also, I've been nudged into applying for a position on the Lawrence Arts Commission.

Busy, school hasn't even started yet.
TOO MUCH. But good, I think.

Meeting with potential wedding photography client tomorrow.
Must finish two paintings by 25th. Have to re-do screenprint for Darfur benefit. Put together a plan of attack for V-Day show. School starts Thurs. Dinner with Sara on Friday. Kim's staff party on Sunday.
Balls. BALLS I SAY!
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If we're taught, or had the lesson forced upon us, that words are easily false, things too easily manufactured and deceptive, then we base our realities on action. And what if action is the liar? What then?

And if you start out the first day of the year in confusion, is that what's in store for 364 days more?

He thinks I wanted more out of him than I did. He apologizes. I think he thought I had us picking out curtains. But he's the one who confused the issue.
The contact, the messages, leading up, the call, the hand constantly on the back, the care, the kissing, the giving...not taking, the touching, the words, the morning (not drinking), the spooning, more touching and cuddling, the days in-between were used for back-peddling.

The boy got cold feet from his own creation, and all I got was confusion and frustration, not even a lousy t-shirt. It was like a split personality, only he's not malicious enough for it to be intended. I, sadly enough, wish I'd never met him, if only for the fact that now I really do miss being treated and touched like that. FWB doesn't get the job done. Not a giver.
Why can't you penis-holders be more up-front. And if you don't know what you want, say just that. Most importantly, don't act the opposite. Don't be tender and blame it on the booze. Act like an animal, then blame it on the booze. That's how it works. Anything else is just a cover-up.

That said, I wish him well.
He may have a hard road ahead.

I'm not as melancholy as this sounds. Just analyzing, feeling poesy.
I actually had a very good day. Got some work done in the studio, had dinner with a friend, saw Juno with her and another friend, got a call for a wedding photography job. Hopefully this is a predictor of the coming year, not confused boys.
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And now, for the mundane....
I think I'm getting sick, but I keep drinking the bourbon anyway. I can't pay my rent, at least not until next week. Don't want to go to school, feel surrounded by people who are jazzed about making art and I want a fucking normal life, a normal wife. Just for a little while, to get me back in the Mooooood.

Went to the studio tonight, at around 10pm. Just to get my body used to traveling in that direction, hoping it will stick. I did nothing. I stared. I ran my hand over the scarred skin of My Big Demon and wondered what the hell is wrong with me. I sat. I started thinking too much, realized I'd stopped moving and that was my problem. So I left. Came home. Made something small to eat, since I'd barely eaten today. Made a drink, watched some TV and tried my best not to think.
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Maybe I am taking it personally, but this kind of pisses me off.
JPG Mag.com took down one of my photos because there was a hint of dick in it. Yes, a hint. It wasn't pornography, it wasn't "lewwwd", it wasn't distasteful. So, I get their standard form letter and blah blah "no genitalia". Yes, but shitty self-portraits of some chick's boobs are okay. Whatever.

Then I see someone's entry for this "Noir" theme and it's a photo of someone else's graffiti work. Okay, that crap pisses me off. If you're going to be a photographer, don't go around taking pictures of other people's art and passing it off as a photo. Unless you're bringing something new to the table, get back into kitchen (and make me a pot pie, of course). So, I was going to comment on this person's photo, somewhat nicely, but bluntly, and say "Hey, nice shot. But that's not yours" (since a few others raved about what a great photo it was). But then I see there are "comment guidelines". Apparently we're all supposed to be nice and coddling and say, "Aww gee, that's swell. Please try again with more shitty photographs" rather than giving someone some honest fucking feedback that they may be sorely lacking (myself included). How is this going to make better artists out of anyone and is JPG even a place for artists? Maybe it's been a namby-pamby design magazine all along.

ALSO, what is up with people saying "great capture" instead of "great photo" or "great shot"? WHY MUST YOU ACT LIKE DICKS? DICKS ARE NOT ALLOWED IN ART.

fdkj foaurieoujio:!!111
goddammit.

/rant.

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