Creatures.. OF DE NIIIIGHT!

I am now on night shift.

I shall use this time to be productive.

I am now laughing cruelly at the thought of productivity at 2:30 in the morning.

So far I have successfully read the entire back archives of The Oatmeal. 18 pages worth. Why am I not writing or drawing or doing my own shit?

A question for the ages.

 

 

 

Also, I hate summer and its hot and I sleep days with no AC and I want it to be Halloween.

 

Someone get on that for me.

Welcome to 1962!

So I've decided I want to take more of an involvement in this blog. Mainly I want to use it as a creative outlet, but I also don't want to pass on the delightful potential for bitching, so I'll use it for that, too. As I currently have no subscribers, I have no obligations to anyone but myself, and as a result will be saying "fuck" with an almost religious fervor.

I titled today's post due to an event I recently endured, one that is so stupid that it almost defied belief. We are talking 1980s After School Special levels of villainy. And irritation. Let me preface this tale of warning with some history: I am currently thirty-five, almost thirty-six, and single. As I would like to get laid sometime this decade (and am trying to do so after finally confronting and defeating the specter of childhood sexual abuse) I am ready to find my man and no longer date a series of sociopathic man-babies looking for a teat to nurse on, and God help you if it's not as naturally buoyant as silicone. Barring that I'd like to find someone to play slap and tickle with.

So I'm tentatively on a few dating sites, figuratively putting my feet in the water, and I meet a a very attractive guy who seems like a lot of fun. He's not really boyfriend material, but that's okay because he was upfront about not wanting to date anyone exclusively. We were attracted to each other, and got into a few instances of playing kissy-face-ass-grab. I was enjoying myself. We were both upfront about wanting to go to bed together, and it was headed that way, I just wanted to get more comfortable with him before I decided to ride that pony home. I made that clear to him on our first date (and through a series of text messages), and it seemed like we were on the same page. Sex was inevitable, we just had to fit it to my time table.

I know how it looks by saying "my timetable", but there's a reason for that. Letting a person physically into your body is frightening. I'm glad that he was ready to go for it, but I straight up was not, and he was not going to get on top of me while we were both naked until I was absolutely comfortable with it. So my previous statement stands; we're working sexually on my time table.

But apparently The Boy decided that pressure and shame were his two greatest weapons in the War to Breach My Vagina. We were talking on Saturday night, when he announces that we're to bone that Thursday. I told him no we were not, for a variety of reasons, starting with the fact that I did not want to bone on that up-coming date. I told him it that 1: I was not yet comfortable enough with him to do that. 2: I deeply hate being pressured, 3: I was working that night, and 4: I was on my period. I know some people enjoy period sex but I am not one of them. I am fucking angry when I menstruate, and I tend to be in a lot of physical discomfort. This is not a justification of my saying no, however. The fact that I said "no" was grounds enough for him to decamp and attempt new negotiations as this peace treaty had caught fire before it had even been penned.

Instead this brilliant man who is a lead role in a field of engineering texted me saying "I'm starting to think you're just a fucking tease!"

After two dates.

I'm not going to lie, I went nuclear in my head. My blood pressure must have spiked in a big way because my face turned bright red, and I was so angry I was sweating. I am not a naturally sweaty person-- my bangs might get damp on hot days, and I develop swamp tits but that's the peril of wearing a bra more than my own natural moistening tendencies. I had sweat running from the creases of my knees and elbows my body temperature climbed so high, so fast. To my own credit I did not blast him with every foul word I could think of (and after a life time of studying that is not a small list). Instead I calmly explained my position, but with the caveat that if he didn't like it he was free to walk away. He then delivered the Half-Assed Apology, and I detached because I know myself well enough now to get that temporary distance is a necessity when I have a shock that feels like it blew the top of my skull off.

And the more I thought about it, the angrier I got. Not the flash-burn Insta-Rage that flares immediately and then burns out almost as quickly. Instead it was the slow-growing, ever-rising anger that takes its strength from cold fury instead of burning wrath. And the same question kept occurring and re-occurring: who in fuck does this guy think he is?

How completely self-centered and fundamentally broken do you have to be for an approach like shaming someone into screwing you not only seems like a good idea, but an avenue worth exploring in its entirety? How dissociated do you have to be from your partner to want to have sex in such a degraded fashion? How incapable of empathy do you have to be to still be able to get an erection at the thought of cowing someone with societal pressure into spreading his or her legs for you?

"Pretty fucking." is the only answer I've been able to come up with.

Do you see why I compared this to an after school special earlier in this writing? Seriously, all this needs is me in a big bangs and a bulky sweater and him as the sociopath foot ball star for this to be some kind of "WARNINGS AGAINST RUNNING WITH THE FAST CROWD!!" piece of Hallmark channel hysteria.

But what upsets me the most in this entire event is what my two friends Cindy and Lauren pointed out to me: he's used this before, and he tried it on me because it worked. He successfully shamed some poor woman or women into putting out before they were ready by implying that she had somehow promised something simply by dating him. That dog will not hunt, monseigneur. Not on these grounds. I just thank God that I am comfortable enough in my own skin that I knew to say no and point out how shitty it is to try and pressure someone into something they don't want or aren't ready for.

I haven't told him to go fuck himself, but we haven't talked since the Half-Assed Apology, and it's been almost two weeks, so I'm not really holding my breath that he'll have the sac to contact me again. If he does then all attempts at calm, reasoned explanations are going to get chucked right out the damn window, and I'm going to light into him with a righteous fury that will have him cursing my name for years to come.  

Plus I totally have pictures of his penis.

From Mundane to Creepy

I absolutely adore the Monster High dolls. I've been quietly collecting them for a bit now-- a really good price at the local Fred Meyer's helped my initial start of the original four. They were priced to move-- buy one get one free, so obviously there was a lot of faith in the dolls' salability at one little enclave in Washington State. That was sarcasm, incidentally. 

Originally I wanted to collect all of the dolls as they were released, but they quickly proved so popular that I knew there was no way that was going to happen. I hate collecting merely for the sake of having it all-- I used to have that completist mind set but then I realized I was buying shit I didn't want simply because it had a logo slapped on it. I thankfully realized how stupid that mindset really was. Going through my dad's stuff after he died really drove that home-- he was a Trekkie of the worst degree, and there are closets at my mom's house that are literally jammed full of Star Trek stuff. I'm talking floor to ceiling, can't-get-the-door-to-shut-without-force kinda hoarding here. My goal since then has been to downsize. A lot. So now I cherry pick-- I get the dolls I like (when I have money, that is) and I ignore the ones I'm not that into. I'm also avoiding the re-releases of characters I already have in new outfits, though I must confess that I would love a roller girl Operetta (daughter of the Phantom of the Opera!) to ride around in the Boo-Mobile with me. 

That being said, I still have a LOT of dolls, and had no space to display them, as my shelves are currently entertaining my Strawberry Shortcake dolls, My Little Ponies, Little Apple Dolls, a Living Dead doll, etc. You get the gist. What can I say? I like dolls.

I wanted to display the MH dolls, but I wanted to do more than the usual sterile "doll on a stand on the wall" that you usually see. Originally I wanted to be able to create various tableaux-- the dolls interacting, Cleo being a bitch, stuff like that. So I kept my eyes open when I went thrifting and I finally hit paydirt-- I found a really ugly shelf that had a lot of potential! It was a tiny stair case nailed to a crescent moon with a real chain hand hold. For tiny, tiny hands. And it had all been painted white. Even the tiny chain for tiny hands. It had also been sloppily done. I so do not understand the person who owned this before I did.

I decided the first thing it needed was a paint job. Except that's a lie. The first thing I did was take sandpaper to the chain. Who the fuck paints chain?! And it's not like it was to prevent rust or something-- this chain used to be a necklace!

Step one: start the repaint. I forgot to take a pic while it was still all white. I'm sure you can use your imagination. Also use it to imagine that my house is clean. What can I say other than up yours it's my house and I'm an indifferent housekeeper?

Initially my plan was vague; all I knew what that I hated the white. I had thoughts about getting my Dremel out and making a distressed look, but the problem with that idea was that I really, really hated that white paint. A lot. Intensely. Profoundly. Really really. So I went for Halloween colors, vaguely thinking I could distress that after it dried. A happy accident occurred then, as the white paint really showed the brush strokes in the orange paint, so I decided to make it look like old warped planking. In Halloween colors. 

Close up of the moment of epiphany. That is some orange paint right there, yessir.

So away I went, doing multiple layers, getting paint all over myself, and watching the documentary Zombie Girl, about an eleven year old girl who decides to make a feature length zombie movie. Really impressive kid, kinda strange mother. Finally, when I decided the paint was thick enough, I added wood grain detail with a black pigment marker. I used a silver pigment marker to dot in nail heads because I'm anal retentive and detail obsessed. 

Detail shot of the top steps and platform. Notice that it's lovingly drawn and oh so slightly out of focus.  

Bottom steps and platform slightly more in focus. I need to sand that cocking chain more.

The next problem was the moon itself. After I had painted the steps their festive colors, I painted the staircase's framework in black, because black is the opposite of that horrible white. The problem was that I didn't mask my edges before I started painting, which was really, really stupid of me. There were little accidents here and there, and while nail polish got the majority of the pigment off there tended to be a ghost of the color behind, and it both annoyed me and looked like crap. So I decided some form of tendril/miasma looking accent would cover that up as well as add some interesting detail to the moon, which was, again, just blah white. I had kicked around the idea of painting the moon with yellow tint, but yellow's a color that can get away from me, fast, and if it was the wrong hue it would totally ruin the whole piece. So the tendrils won out.

Originally they were going to be metallic gold, but my pigment pen obliged me by sucking like a hoover. I have no metallics other than glass paint and that wasn't going to work here for obvious reasons. I could have (and probably should have) stopped for the night and gone out to see if I could find something at the local arts and crafts store (they mailed me a free 10$ coupon for my birthday) but I was, as usual, impatient, and wanted to press on. I lucked out here with a solution that worked well, but I've ruined art projects in the past by keeping on when I should have stopped. This is a really bad habit of mine, and one I need to curb.

I lucked out this time, however, and changed the tendrils from solid gold (Madam wasn't there, sadly, and if you get this joke then congratulations! You're old.) to black filled with a gold border. Thankfully my black pigment pen isn't the pain in the butt that her metallic siblings are. Why her? Why not?

After that was done I then decided to not just gild the lily but to roll it in rhinestones and glitter. I added detailing using Halloween tinsel die cuts that I've had for ages. I love Halloween; I never pass up a chance to add to the bank of crafting goods! On alternating steps I put either a jack o lantern or a ghost. Then on the moon itself I added bats, and finally, spiders descending from webbing from under the stairs. I even drew little silver webs on the underside of the actual framing. Someone stop me before I detail again!

A top view. The ghosts look weird and blobby because I took this pic almost immediately after I glued them on. It looks cleaner now that the glue has dried. That chain is still bugging me.

Bottom view. You can also see book flags on the floor next to my foot. Pointless info? Only a whole lot!

After that I mounted it on the wall. It came with the same little folding bracket that old picture frames come with-- you know, the ones that flop over and play dead while you're trying to thread them on the nail you drove into the wall. The ones designed to make you cuss and blaspheme at 11 pm.

Finally mounted! I promptly had to redo one of the nails since it was tipped too far over on the viewer's right. An indifferent Draculaura looks on.

And finally, a good chunk of my dolls made it onto the wall! I love taking pictures of my house; the unflattering light of the flash makes sure to present my home in the worst possible light. Thank you, phone flash. This shelf is just above my entertainment stand and next to the shelf that houses the Universal Monster busts that had been my father's. A friend on Face Book thought the ponies were out of place, but not really when you see my collective decor. I am an enticing mix of grue and glitter, and I think mixing horror with the candy colored toys of my childhood makes for a great mix. 

Seven dolls on that shelf! I think that counted as a success! Draculaura still cares not a smidge. From the bottom is Frankie Stein, then Clawdeen, then sitting is my witch, Calpernia Hexe, then Jackson Jekyl, sitting at his feet is Cosette Skellet (she's French!), then Lagoona Blue, and finally Robecca Steam. I freaking LOVE these dolls! I have others in little clusters around my house. I'd like to get some form of shadow box that I could seat them in. That would look neato, I think.

And here's a bonus shot of Cosette Skellet (she's still French!) getting surgery.

She's a kit bash. As a result, hot glue was needed. And she's still French.

Witch Jars

I'm kicking up for Halloween (I do this all year, so this isn't that new) and makin' stuff.

Having never made witch jars in the past it was a fun new experience, and I've tried to add my own little touches. Eventually I'm gonna slap 'em up on etsy, but I'm torn-- I wanna keep them for my very own! I love you, witch jars, marry me and bear my little illuminated babies! Wait, I'm a girl. This is going weird places, fast.

So far I've got two jars done-- I need to empty more almost empties in the fridge-- I'm bad at the "lonely pickle crying, alone, in the jar" syndrome.

Here's the first:

There's a very light (HA!) tree motive stamped in the paint as it was drying. The bottom is grubbed with a mix of tea and glitter. It'd probably taste like crap but man would you have pretty teeth after drinking that concoction!

It's lit, but I took a pic with the flash on anyway. It's funny, these are really fun items in person and I love making them, but you show someone a picture and they look at you like you just told them one of your toes was a penis. Again, I'm a girl.

Same jar, in the dark:

Admit it, that looks pretty cool! Again, you can see the tree here, but you have to know what you're looking at first, so it's kinda like pointing at snow and asking someone if they saw that one snow flake.


Jar numbah the second is larger, and I approached that one with different stuff.

Looks like someone needs to scrape the bowl, man. I make a lot of pot references for someone who's never used it.

I used different colors here, and added more glitter. Man I love glitter. I love Halloween, but I REALLY love glittery Halloween. And My Little Ponies. Especially glittery, Halloween ponies. 

To make the collar I used some really crappy linen-type white fabric that I made the mistake of using to make a cape for my nephew 'Leafa's birthday. Crap slid EVERYWHERE. But it also left scraps, was very easy to distress (I told it that with those GRE scores it could kiss grad school goodbye) and even easier to dye. Which is poetic since only a few days before I had wanted to kill it.

I really need a better night time shot, but I know doodly poop about photography.

This jar also got its own detailing, which showed up in photography with better clarity. The cool thing about these is how easy they are to detail and customize, and I have a ton of Halloween stuff that I can use on these. I want to make a bunch to hang in my yard. Possibly year 'round.

It's funny how I'm mildly arachnophobic and yet love spiders as a decor point. I want spiders on me, just not actual arachnids. Hypocrisy or the Beauty of the Human Spirit? A melange of both. 

All in all, these are a lot of fun, and could be turned into a kid-friendly craft pretty easily. I recommend them, and they're a great way to keep some of the accumulation out of your recycle bin. And into your home instead.