If You Lactate, They Will Come

2009-03-19T01:59:00.001-05:00

I'm Sick of Gays...Help?

Ok, so before I start getting angry emails let me just say that I don't think there's anything wrong with being gay. My college seems to have more gay people than straight people and this semester, I'm finding the "stereotypical" gay male highly irritating. I mean the "Hey Girl," stupid best friend "sissy" wingman type by stereotype. I just want to tell them that I'm not they're "girlfriend" or "boo." I fear however that if I voice my opinions I'll be labelled as a homophobe. What should I do to quell my irritation? - from some guy on Yahoo! Answers.

My response:

Hahaha I shouldn't laugh, but I feel the same way. And I am a guy who is dating guy. It irritates me to the point where I stopped going out to gay bars. Having said that, one of my co-workers is one of the biggest, most overcompensating pigs I have ever met. He is constantly making degrading comments about women. It drives me insane. I just am irritated by anyone who does not seem to have any real personality other than one they feel the need to fake in order to appease the masses. I personally blame Queer Eye for the Straight Guy and every movie of the 80's thru the early 90s starring a man on steroids, drenched in sweat and oil, and holding a giant gun. And for the fake ladies, well, start with Paris Hilton and make your way down the list until you are tired.

The thing is, if you truly are effeminate, by all means let your little light shine. If you are truly a pig and truly feel like women are nothing but objects, well oink oink Wilbur. It just pisses me off to no end when I am around a group of ANY people who are obviously just faking for the masses. It really does.

One major reason is I don't see why anyone would ever want to agree to give us equal rights when we are acting like a bunch of ignorant f*ggots. Is that harsh? Maybe. Does it make it less true? I don't think it does at all. Not saying it is right either. Do you think that if African Americans had actually acted like what society pretended to expect them to act like, watermelon eating, ignorant Sambos, the Civil Rights Movement would have been as successful as it was? No, it wouldn't. By not falling into the trap of what society expected of and forced upon them, by NOT going against who they were as individuals and as a group, and by not simply giving in to the imposed assinine views and shuffling around answering "yessuh" and "nawsuh", but by standing up and acting like a regular group of people who weren't performing monkeys but who truly wanted and deserved to be treated as equals, did they ever get to have those rights (And don't EVEN try to read any racial slurs into any of that because there are none). Until the gay community grows up, gets a voice that has actually cracked thru puberty, and stops volunteering to be this silly, over-the-top, comic relief, Vaudville act, that is meant to be taken lightly, we will never EVER get the same rights. And that pisses me off because I want to, plan to, and deserve to be able to get married.

Having concluded my micro-rant, here's my advice. Remove yourself from the situation. I don't mean switch schools. I mean steer clear of the people who are sliding sheets of paper under your fingernails. Don't be rude. DON'T get violent. Just steer clear. I would advise you to say something, because I feel like issues are best dealt with head on with words, but honestly, I think I know what would happen. You'd be instantly pinged as a homophobe and there'd be a big queen off to see who could try to belittle you the most. Then you'd run the risk of getting into trouble or being made an example of. It is a waste of time and just not worth it. If you think that they would be willing to talk, try talking. I have asked people before why they put on the gay guy stereotype. I was told it is a social thing and a way of fitting in. I look at it as lemmings heading toward a cliff. Eventually, the novelty of it will wear off and you'll want to be taken seriously. Then it is incredibly hard if possible at all.

Sorry this question just struck a nerve and caused me to get out one of my soap boxes. I just wish people could be comfortable enough in their own skin to be their own person without hiding behind an often times socially provided, socially accepted, and wildly inappropriate mask. Not sure if that helps at all other than maybe seeing that there is a gay guy who on some level understands where you are coming from, but there ya go.

Oh, also, I am back.

Later Consuela.

2007-07-07T00:06:00.000-05:00

The Mountain and the Molehill

We do deliveries of medications on the half hours every night (i.e. 12:30, 1:30, etc.). Tuesday night, a child who was in the pediatric hospital died. There were some meds for the kid waiting to be delivered at around 5:45 that morning. They had just missed the 5:30 delivery. When I took them on the 6:30 delivery, I was told to take them back to the pharmacy as the child did not need them anymore. That really got to me. I don't believe in a miracle pill or miracle elixir or anything, but it did make me wonder what difference that one med would have made had the order made it to the pharmacy 15 minutes earlier.

Tonight, we had another pediatric patient to code. I literally ran the bolus over as quickly as my out of shape twenty-five year old arthritically kneed legs could carry me. I can barely run without wheezing as is and peds is all the way across the hospital (approximately a whole fucking shitload of feet away). I only quit smoking again on Tuesday. Twelve years of damage couldn't even be partially repaired in that little time afterall.

I made it to PICU, somewhat slightly winded, and looked for the action. There were doctors and nurses and respiratory therapists and gawkers and sodium bicarb and epinephrine and needles and notes and two beds tucked away in the back corner of the PICU. I jogged to the baby's bedside just outside the tornado of people and drugs and told them I had his/her medication. No one heard me, so I said it a little louder. Still nothing. I was about to grab a nurse and hand off the bag, when another nurse peeked her head up through the crowd long enough to say, "That's for him," with a nod before being sucked back under. It was then that I noticed the morbidly obese teen in the next bed. I had not realized that both were coding. I knew there was a lot of motion swirling around the two children, but they had only announced one code. I assumed the extra people were all there to watch the whole spectacle. I thought the teen, who I had not even payed attention to at first, was just catching the gawker runoff. The two beds beside one another at the farthest end of the pediatric intensive care unit both had children coding in them, a first for me after seven years in the hospital.

I found it bizarrely surreal watching them work on the two. The tiniest handful of a baby and the gargantuan teen. A million thoughts flashed through my head in the 1.5 seconds it took for me to toss the i.v. bag across the teenager to his nurse. Is this a test? Is it because I lost one earlier this week? How loud am I wheezing right now? Is that his scrotum? What's wrong with him? What's wrong with the baby? Why are so many people up here? Why is that nurse laughing? Are the couple I ran past in the waiting area the parents? Did my earrings fall out of my back pocket? Was it the epinephrine or the ativan drawer that he said would not open? My lungs seem to have cleared up a little after that run. I've never seen two codes happen simultaneously and side by side like this. Do I smell like sweat now? Are they going to make it? That nurse is still laughing.

I briskly walked out of the PICU and thru the waiting area trying to avoid eye contact. As soon as I was out of view of the families, I began to run again. Past surgery. Past the ATMs. Past the lab, the ICU waiting room, and the old gift shop. Down the stairwell. Past the restrooms. Down the corridor. Back into pharmacy.

"Here's the second bag," said one of my pharmacists, handing it off to me as I ran back out the doors. Up the corridor. Past the restrooms. Up the stairwell. Past the old gift shop, the ICU waiting room, and the lab. Past the ATMs. Past surgery. Up to the corner of the PICU waiting area where I slowed to a huffing, puffing, wheezing brisk walk. I made my way back to the mountain and the molehill and handed off the next bag of fluid.

"Call pharmacy and tell them...oh, Preston, good. We're out of bicarb and epi push," called one of the teen's nurses.

"Rie...," I breathed in response before heading back out. This time as I passed thru the waiting family members, I noticed that I was being watched by them all. I knew I was starting to sweat. I know that I sweat buckets. I knew that they could not be that stupid as to not realize that something is going on. Yet, I still waited to get around the corner, out of eyeshot, before breaking into my sprint. This time as I ran, my mind began again to wander. Is my back sweating? God, my shins are killing me. Would it be faster to cut thru surgery? I hope they make it. ATMs. How much money do I make? God, my lungs hurt. Lab. Bicarb. Waiting room. Epinephrine. Old gift shop. Push. Down the stairwell. Almost there. Restrooms. God, my ankles hurt. Down the corridor. Where's my name badge? Back into pharmacy.

"They... need... bicarb... and... epi... ... push..."

"They don't have any?"

"They just... said that... they ran... ... out..."

One pharmacist ran to the bulk medication stock room. The other ran to the crash cart restock shelves. I stood in the middle catching my breath for a moment.

"How can we not have bicarb and epi on the cart shelves?!"

I ran to the bulk room. The pharmacist stood in the i.v. row of shelves looking around anxiously like a cat following a laser pointer.

"Epi and bicarb," I said as I grabbed the two. He glanced to make sure they were correct before I headed for the door. I stopped and asked, "Is there anything else that needs to go over there right now while I am going." It is not that I would have refused to make another trip, but I wasn't sure how much longer I could last at that pace. Very sad, but very true. Another bag of iv fluid was thrown on top of the boxes of epinephrine and out I went.

Corridor. Forehead sweat. Restrooms. Tight calves. Stairwell. Snapped thighs. Gift shop. Pinched forearm. Waiting room. Burning lungs. Lab. Screaming ankles. ATMs. Watery eyes. Surgery. Almost there. Waiting area. Just keep running. PICU. Wait, I'm coming.

"He... ... ... bic... ... ... ep... ..."

"Hang on. That's his mother," whispered one of the gawkers to me. She tapped a man I assumed was the teenager's doctor. "Where should he put this?"

He turned to look at me, drenched with sweat and gasping for air, looked down at the boxes I was carrying and sighed, "Just leave them there."

I did not realize it then, but the mother was called in to say goodbye. They knew he wasn't going to make it and were, at this point, keeping him going long enough for her to see him one last time technically alive. Then, he died.

I was told later that the baby had not made it either, but found out that it was a mistake. There was another code in PICU earlier in the evening that did not survive. My little baby at least lived.

So what is the point of this whole thing? Well, I guess I just remembered tonight that I am dealing with actual human life. I mean yea, I know that in a hospital there are people who need help, but working in the pharmacy in the middle of the night in the basement away from most human contact, it is easy to forget. My point is, I am ready to be a nurse now more than ever. If there were any doubts about whether I would be able to actually do it or want to do it, those have been laid to rest. I rarely get a chance to do anything even remotely hands on as far as patient care. While running back and forth across a hospital is not that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things, it was at least something. The nurses and doctors thanked me later that night for getting their stuff to them so quickly while they dealt with the actual codes. I want to thank them for solidifying my decision about school. So, while I doubt any of them will ever be reading this, thank you all.

Later Consuela.

2007-07-05T02:19:00.000-05:00

Woulda, Coulda, and Shoulda
and
A Tale from the Bottom of the Bottle

*Overlook poor grammar as this has not yet been proofread. Preston, head in the game, bud.*

I am not really actively persuing anyone at the moment. I am interested in a few people right now. Well, I am legitimately interested in one guy for something real, henceforth known as Woulda. Another is a guy who is officially straight, dubbed Coulda. The last is a girl that I am pretty good friends with, of course named Shoulda.

Woulda is a really awesome guy. He is a guy that I have been admiring from a distance in a nonstalker fashion for at least the past two years. I say that because I knew him vaguely from a few years ago at which time I was also interested, but he was unavailable. He is down to earth for the moment. He shares similar interests with me. Though, I will admit, I believe that my very eclectic interests make it difficult for me to find people with whom I do not share several common interests. He actually thinks. He has that really cute pseudo nerdy wit that I love. After my last dating blurb, that would be a nice trait to see in someone I am dating. Physically, he is gorgeous. I let him know I think so too, which I am sure was a big mistake. It does not change the fact. I need to learn when to shut up, I know. I am not going to go thru every individual positive and negative quality he has. Firstly, I would not be able to accurately list them all as of yet. Secondly, what is the point? At the end of the day, Woulda is the one I woulda had if the timing had been different for him.

Coulda is another awesome fella. His official story is that he is straight. He is a guy that I have been admiring from a distance in a nonstalker fashion for at least the past three years. I say that because he and I have worked in the same place for the entire three years I have been here (it is a big hospital so good luck narrowing it down). He is down to earth. He shares similar interests with me and is Woulda's polar opposite for the most part. This helps to prove my eclectic interests theory. He also actually thinks. He is very sarcastic and funny. Physically, he is handsome and works out quite a bit. I have not let him know I think so, as I am sure that could be a big mistake. I need my job. It does not change the fact, though. I need to learn how to imply, I know. I coulda gone out with him a few times now had I not chickened out of going alone. Again, need the job. I am not going to go thru every individual positive and negative quality he has. Firstly, I would not be able to accurately list them all as of yet. Secondly, what is the point? At the end of the day, Coulda is the one I coulda had if the situation had been different, and I were not such a chicken shit.

Shoulda is an amazing straight female friend. She is a girlie I have been admiring from a distance in a nonstalker fashion for at least the past year or so of the two and a half I have known her. I say that because she and I worked in the same place in the past and are now pretty good friends (it is a big hospital so good luck narrowing her down). She, like the others, is down to earth. She shares similar interests with me and is Woulda and Coulda's lovechild basically. Eclectic interests theory. She is one of the most intelligent people I know. She has a dry, quick, schtick, sarcastic wit that keeps me laughing and plays perfectly off of my own. Physically, she's just a beautiful chicka, and she knows I think so. I tell her every single time I am in contact with her. I shoulda asked her out way back when we were still getting to know one another. Now, we have become too close as friends to risk losing it. Still, she is the girl/guy I say I would easily get married to if I found the "right girl/guy". She's wifey material. Like with Woulda and Coulda, I am not going to go thru every individual positive and negative quality she has. Firstly, I would not be able to accurately list them all due to time constraints. Secondly, what is the point? At the end of the day, Shoulda is the one I shoulda dated had the situation been different, had timing been different, had my gay friends been different, had a ton of things been different.

So that's what has been on my mind lately. Three very different people who are all very much the same. Three different people that I would, could, or should be with for their own individual qualities. Three people I would, could, or should be able to be happy with were it not for certain forces that are outside of my control. It is irritating, but such is life I suppose. I'll eventually find that best friend/soulmate/girlfriend/boyfriend/husband/wife/whatever that is out there. I suppose I will. I may not. But really, at this point, I guess it doesn't exactly matter. I mean, seriously, I've been fine thusfar with the status quo. It'd just be kind of nice I guess. I mean I have been single since Eeyore and I broke up which was just before I began writing in this thing. It is time to get back on that horse, well, donkey. Not that I am trying to get back with Eeyore. I just want to start dating again. I think I have forgotten how one goes on a date. Almost. Woulda and I had a pleasant one recently. I almost feel like I am back at square one. Back where I was in February of 2004 at Consuela's beginning. Actually, that predates Consuela. Back then, it was just "blog" (I really hate that word.) Actually, I think I did a Bette Midler Hocus Pocus yell of, "BoooooOOOOOOK!" No comments thanks. Alright moving on.

Recently I was talking to this lesbian couple I know who enjoy the sauce a bit, imagine that. We were exchanging old drinking stories, so I pulled out one of the if not the worst one from my past. It is disgusting if not at least mildly entertaining. As I am a humiliation whore apparently, here ya go. Though I am fairly certain that I am the only one who actually reads this anymore which kind of makes it even better. At any rate, here is what happened on

The Night of the Deadly Mudslides

In West Philadelphia, born and raised, on the playground is where I spent most my days. Wait that is someone else's story. Many moons ago I spent a lot of my time in a place known as "high school." On weekends, most of my days were spent with my Italian friend Cenzo. We would spend our evenings and weekends smoking the devil weed and drinking the nectar of our Russo brethren. It was also the time in my life that I began saying, I don't remember last night, so I know I had a good time. Eat your heart out Spicoli.

On one of these weekends of faux medicinal debauchery, Momma Cenzo took Cenzo and I to his cousin's house. His cousin will be...Steve...why not. We made it to Steve's house. Actually, he will be Stephen. No, just Ste. Okay so we went to Ste's house and began to have a few cocktails. By 'cocktails' I actually mean Mad Dog or something. I think that was the name. All I remember is it was in a big can with a dog on the front and tasted the same as I imagined the pictured dog's urine tasting. But I was young and it was alcohol.

Momma Cenzo didn't mind if I drank or smoked or got high or anything because, as she put it, "I'm not your mom. I can't tell you what to do." This doesn't actually make any sense to me now any more than it did then, but who's to argue.

So basically, I end up hammered off of the dog piss. We eventually leave Ste's house to go back to the Cenzo nest. The door was locked. I was drunk. They were tipsey. I was irritable. They were slow. I was impatient. They were fumbling. I was loud. They dropped the keys. I kicked in the front door. They were shocked. I was confused. They began to giggle. Good beginning for the evening.

So now it is around 10 pm roughly. We are waiting on Cenzo's lady friend to get off work and make it over. I begin on the gallon of Mudslide, my drink o'choice back in the proverbial day, using as much pacing as I do now. Actually, my pacing has gotten slightly better, but not by much. So Cenzette shows up around 1030 or 11. I am plastered. They are laughing at the drunken teenage house guest. I am dizzy. They are playing quarters. I am feeling suffocated. They are getting a little closer to drunk. I strip, run out the door, and head down the street in a staggered run. (I do not remember anything about this night so most of this is based on their joint account of the evenings events.)

It was around this time that Cenzo realized I had "gone streaking" and sent his mother and Cenzette after me. I, having been fueled by three quarters of a gallon of Mudslides on top of the festering dog urine, was able to somehow, magically outrun them while staring at the sky and repeating, The stars are so fucking beautiful, man.

When they caught up to me, about a mile up the road, I was lying down on my Pentecostal uncle's front lawn and staring at the stars, calling out their beauty, penis in the wind.

"Preston, get the hell up! Your uncle is gonna kill you then us!"

"The stars, man. They're BEAUTIFUL!"

Momma Cenzo and Cenzette grabbed me, tossed my boxer briefs at me, and started pulling me back toward their home, praying the whole way that no one had been awakened.

The next bit of the story is a little hazy. Most of the details match up in all three versions. The order of the events varies.

Between my uncle's home and the home of Momma Cenzo there lived a crazy old man with an arsenal. His name will be Old Man Smith. Old Man Smith was the man we were convinced was a retired, overzealous DEA agent who had snapped due to the pressures of the job, moved to the country, set up an unofficial sting operation across the street, and watched us constantly. Every day was our last. That is part of why we partied like it was 1999 in 1999. In retrospect, had we not been partying, he would not have been watching us if he were watching us which he wasn't watching us but we were paranoid...vicious cycle. Catch 22 maybe. Not sure. That term has always confused me. Back on track.

We are crossing Old Man Smith's front yard, I apparently wanted to feel the grass beneath my feet while looking at the fucking beautiful stars, when I stopped to get a better look at them. Momma Cenzo is quietly whispering/beckoning me out of the man's yard as we are all fucked up, he is crazy DEA guy, and I am still underage and nude. I told her that that was unacceptable and threw a handful of my pubic hair into her face and mouth. I did this a few more times as she staggered backwards clawing at her mouth and spitting. Old Man Smith walked outside to see what his dogs were barking at. I threw my hands into the air and ran away like ET followed closely by Momma Cenzo and Cenzette. I then threw more pubes in her face, put my clothes on outside, and came in to finish off the Mudslide. At some point after that, I began puking up all the alcohol and chocolate milk (Mudslide) under their television and passed out trying to swim in it. The next morning was a disgusting, Hills Have Eyes mess that I had the pleasure of cleaning.

The End

So yea. Not much I can say after sharing that gem, so I'll just quit.

Later Consuela.

2007-06-21T02:37:00.000-05:00

I Fought the Dog and the Dog Won
OR
The Collective: A Gaian Tale

Two weeks ago tomorrow I signed up with a website called Gaia Online. It is an interesting little website. I will not say that I have gotten hooked, but I do enjoy Blackjack or Jigsaw now and again. They're fun. Woo boo ba doo! Fun. The whole point of the site is to play games and earn fake money to buy fake things for your little anime avatar. You can buy clothes, hairstyles, cars, furniture, basically, fake stuff. You can even, assuming you have enough fake money and real time, buy your very own "Celebrity Date" for your avatar. That's right. You are basically buying yourself a whore or in my case a manwhore. Welcome to your children's gaming future.

I say your children's gaming future because that is who is in this free virtual community. Children between the ages of 13 and 16 to be exact. There are a few of us who are older. Apparently there are even a couple of 30 year olds, though I have not seen them as of yet. When I do I will be making plastermolds of their feet and selling them in the marketplace. Did I mention the marketplace? No? Well, the marketplace is where one goes to sell all of his or her unwanted items. It is set up much like eBay with a "Bid" and "Buy Now" function. You can get some poor schmuck...so many places I could go with that...to buy your stuff for double what it is worth and build a tiny virtual empire. I miss the good ole days of plumbers fighting mushrooms and turtles.

So yea. I am a Gaian now apparently. It is not my life, but I enjoy it for what it is. Hang in there, I am getting to my point. It appears that a lot of people have been completely brainwashed into believing that Gaia is the new world. "The new Way" if you will. I love referring to things as "the new way". Aaaah... Right, so people seem to be sucked into it like so many other games. They seem to forget they are living in the real world.

They have their own language. New people are n00bs or newbies or some other variation thereof. There are others, but I refuse to list them. At any rate I went into a forum that was bitching about the new people who are on the site. These people just went on and on and on about how insanely horrible anyone who had not devoted every waking moment to the website since it began in 2004 as the scum of the earth. They wOUld nOt sTOp bitching about all of us new members. Which at first I was almost irritated by, I will admit. But then I realized I was not annoyed by them talking about me. That is juvenile. I was annoyed by the fact that there are actually people out there who are so sucked in to things like these virtual communities that they begin to have these elitist ideals based solely on what basically amounts to a video game score while completely rejecting the outside world. Even the people who were defending myself and the other new people, were putting entirely too much energy into it. I was so physically exhausted from reading the argument, nauseated by repeatedly reading "n00b" and "newbie", and mostly disgusted with myself for having actually sat and read all of it at work, that I typed this in response:

Frankly, anyone who gets this upset or angry about anything dealing with a virtual community should probably try going outside. I mean come on, buddy. Logout already. There really is life outside of Gaia. In fact, there is life outside of, dare I say it, your computer! I can already hear a collective gasp/groan from some of you, but I speak the truth my friends.

There is a whole world out there full of things to do, friends to meet, and experiences to have. Yes, the chances of money falling from a tree or a rock when you shake them are less. Big deal. You get to actually spend the real money on real things when, by some strange turn of luck, you manage to really shake money from your real tree or rock. You could even spend it on some of the Gaia merchandise. It is crazy I know, but true. You can actually experience the experiences in your life in the fresh air and midday sun instead of arguing about insignificant garbage with total strangers while staring at a computer monitor and developing bedsores on your ass. Personally, bedsores do not appeal to me, but that is a personal choice really.

I know you may be saying, "Why are you getting this upset while preaching about not getting upset about these things? A little hypocritical don't you think?" To answer, no, I do not think it is hypocritical as I am not upset. Disappointed in society maybe, but not upset or angry. Fearful of living in a lethargic, atrophy riddled world, but not upset or angry. I am also not attacking nor am I trying to attack any of you, I am just trying to educate. Those of you I am talking to with this know who you are. Please take something from it. The sky is not pixelated. Trees are not bitmapped renderings. Rejoin the living and stop this unnecessary madness. Newb, n00b, newbie, pwned, pwnd, 1337, l337, blah, blah, blah, blah. It doesn't matter.

I guess I am just saying lighten up. This is just a game. Well, that and that internet slang is really silly. I have nightmares of a world where men and women dressed in business attire stand around the water cooler, look at an intern, and ask their boss, "So who's the n00b?"

I am finished.

Why even waste my time? Why get sucked in? Well, as a result there were several people who replied agreeing with me and who are actually around my age. So at least now, when I sign on to play some blackjack or do a puzzle, I will have someone to chat with. Why does it matter if I have someone with whom I can chat? Well...ahem...

And now I give you I Fought the Dog and the Dog Won by Preston Lastname

Once upon a time there was a 25 year old named...Creston...who signed up with an online community in an attempt to play blackjack and online puzzles at work. Well, what he didn't realize at the time (besides that the games do not actually work on the work computers) was that he is the oldest person in the CG land. Inspite of being repeatedly referred to as "gramps" he muddled thru and did his puzzle in the Gay/Bi rooms on lazy off days from working for the man.

"Does anyone want to be my boyfriend?" asked a meek little anime avatar. In retrospect, he probably asked, "ne1 wan 2 b my boifriend? XD" but that's neither here nor there.

"Do you offer a 401k?" asked Creston smirking slightly.

"What? What are you talking about?" asked a confused little anime avatar, his inquiries echoed by the other people in the game chatroom.

Realizing he was once again the oldest by far, he said, "Nevermind," and continued to chip away at the 300 shards of the image before him, giving up all hope of having casual conversation with any of the of the other children. So he sat in his quiet exile trying to fit the large eyed, half nude cartoon of a lady back to her original form only glancing down at the various "conversations" taking place every now and again.

At some point, one of the tiny bug eyed children was talking about his online boyfriend and how in love they are and how his boyfriend accepted him for who he is and even accepted his deepest darkest secret (which clearly translated to "Ask me what my secret is."). Creston, resisting the urge to explain to him that he is too young to know what love is not to mention the fact that it is an online boyfriend not to mention the fact that he hasn't lived long enough to have that many "deep dark" secrets, moved the smoky white left breast into its proper place. With the line cast, Creston knew it was only a matter of time before someone took the bait. Unfortunately, it was less than three lines away.

"What is your deepest darkest secret? Oh, I want to know."

"No, I cannot tell you then it wouldn't be a secret."

"Please!"

This continued for the entire reconstruction of the flaming man featured in Creston's broken image. The man wasn't a flaming homosexual, he was a man who had burst into flames, to clarify. Creston, unamused and tired at this point, stopped paying as much attention to the chatting and started really working on finishing up the puzzle which he had decided by this point was impossible. His mind began to wander. "There must be extra pieces or missing pieces or something in this thing. I wish they'd give me some virtual scissors in this one. Make the little bastards fit one way or the other. Why would anyone make a virtual puzzle with missing pieces? That makes no sense. It is a pretty cool idea though. I think I will make one of those. Well, I should make one. I never will. It is not like I do not have the free time. I know how to do it. I doubt it would even take that long. But nope. I'll just keep sitting here. Playing other people's games. Getting no recognition for what I can do. Probably will be stuck in the same shitty job I have now five years from now and have to move back in with..."

"I am what you call a zoophile."

*Blink blink*

Creston assumed he knew what that meant, but surely, surely he was mistaken. Surely, this was a young teen who was confused about what he was saying and was actually a lover of stuffed animals like teddy bears or beanie babies of yesteryear. Surely, he was trying to use a larger word so he could impress the other cartoon children. He likes going camping is all. He loves his cat, Fifi, is what he means. Perhaps he is an environmentalist alongside MacGyver. He definitely only meant he wants to fly like an eagle with the Steve Miller Band. Rocky Mountain High? Mr. Mistoffelees? Perhaps even a Furry for Christ's sake?

Zoophilia: n. Erotic attraction to or sexual contact with animals.

"Someone should call PETA," Creston said.

"What the hell is PETA?" asked beastial child.

"People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals," came Creston's simple response.

"HOW IS IT WRONG FOR THE DOG TO FUCK ME? HE LIKES IT!," he yelled, well, typed in Caps Lock.

While Creston does not find human on animal sex in any form to be acceptable, for some reason having a dog fuck you just seems extra wrong. Not sure what that says about him, but still. Back to the story.

"Until the dog walks up to you and says, 'Excuse me kind sir, but might I place my penis inside your anus,' it is wrong. The dog is acting on instincts. They hump pillows and people's legs for God's sake."

"WELL HOW IS IT WRONG WHEN THE DOG RAPED ME?!" he cried in desperation. The rest of the chatroom is completely silent throughout this entire exchange excepting only a fourteen year old homo who periodically added, "Awww...I am so sorry to hear that. You poor thing." In retrospect, it probably read something closer to, "awwwww... ) : thats sad *creis a lil* u pore thing. D=" but again, splitting hairs.

"How exactly does one go about getting raped by a dog?" asked Creston actually looking forward to this explanation.

"I WAS BENDING OVER TO GET SOMETHING OFF THE FLOOR AND HE JUMPED ON ME AND STARTED HUMPING ME! WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE?!?!"

"Well, I would have knocked the dog off of me. It is a dog. And why was your bare ass in the air in the dog's face anyway?"

"SO YOU'RE SAYING IT IS MY FAULT I WAS RAPED?!?!?"

"I am just saying there are too many things disturbingly wrong with your story for me to pick apart all of them. I am just pulling them randomly. No, it is not your fault you were raped as you were not actually raped. You are a bizarre and sick individual who has completely changed his story and who really needs a visit from PETA. That is all I am saying. That's all I have to say. I am done," and Creston stopped to return to his flaming anime jigsaw puzzle. This is where the strangest and most disturbing bit of the story came thru. Well not the most perhaps, but it did slightly rattle Creston's nerves.

Six little homos sitting in a row looked at Creston and said the singlemost insanely politically correct, inspite of its being a grammatical nightmare, thing typed or said to date.

"y r u bein so mean 2 him? y r u judgeing him so bad?"

"You have got to be kidding me. I can not be the only one who finds this whole thing fucked up and wrong."

"jus drop it. he can lik n do wutevr he wans."

Creston then saved his puzzle, slowly moved his cursor toward the little red X in the corner, and prayed for his own survival and that of mankind. Something has obviously fucked up in the world.

The End?

So THAT is why I need to find people around my age to talk to on there. Kids scare me.

Later Consuela.

2007-05-25T02:46:00.001-05:00

I Want Money

So I have officially decided what I am going to do with my life. No more changing my mind. No more wishing on a star. No more big plans of fame. Nope. I have settled. Done. Finished. Seatbelt fastened. Tray upright. Kapote. Oy vey.

I will be a nurse. I have a plan that all works out some years down the road. Makes perfect sense too. Not sure why I waited so long to go thru with this. Everyone keeps telling me I will hate it or that I am settling or they ask about the art school crap. Frankly, I give up. Insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results. After seven years, art school is obviously not happening for me. I hate what I do now for the most part, but I have been doing it for seven fucking years. If I can slave for practically no money for practically a decade, why not try to possibly slave for what will definitely be an increase in pay? EXACTLY. There is no good reason I should not just settle for nursing. I have a seven year long record of being a hospital employee. I know how the show is being run at this point. Why not? Well, why not go to pharmacy school? That makes a whole lot more sense to me. Afterall, you have seven fucking years of pharmacy experience. Well, because in the time I have been working as a tech, I could have already become a pharmacist. At this point, what with being 26 when I begin school and all this fall...ya'll...I wouldn't be a pharmacist until I am 32 at the earliest and would be making roughly $90,000 dollars money at that time. Up until I become a pharmacist six years from now, I will continue to scrape by on what I am making now. If I take the nursing route, however comma space I will be making pretty good money within two years and can be a nurse anesthetist within about seven and making more than a pharmacist. The biggest perk being that I do not have to wait as long before I can begin making some money. So that is why I shall be a NURSE!!! I have had to go thru that whole explanation about a billion times in the past two weeks. It has gotten old. From now on, I will be directing any inquiries about the decision to this page. Moving on...

So I've been reading an excellent series of books called the Thursday Next series by Jasper Fforde. Actually, I don't know if it is officially called the Thursday Next series, but that it what it is nonetheless. Actually I just checked on Amazon. Apparently they are the Thursday Next Novels which to me is not really any different. At any rate, everyone should read them. I know. You probably thought there was more to say than that, but there is not. Well, I suppose I could go into the plot of the books, but I don't want to. Just read them. They make me happy. It is a brit comedy/fantasy/sci-fi/detective series full of classic literature references and general bizarre funness. It is awesome on sex on a stick. Testify!

I really have nothing else to talk about. Watched Twin Peaks recently. Loved it. Was disappointed that the show ended on a cliff. Watched Carnivale complete series again. Still can't believe that they ended that one. I am on the last season of MacGyver right now, so it is almost time to say goodbye to the Macker. I am about to start watching the complete H.R. Pufnstuf and the complete Wind in the Willows. Why not. Also, if I had a job that paid more suchas being a nurse, I could afford to go out and whatnot and not always be broke. What? Also, Father O'Flannigan has befriended Aladdin's Abu, I think because Abu has money from the movies and television show whereas I am broke like the joke as Mariran says, so until his primate runs away or dies, I am stuck in my TV fantasy world. That is so pathetic. Father O, I miss you so....

Later Consuela.

2007-03-17T02:12:00.001-05:00

Man I Hate Heights

So I have decided that having this thing written all in a tiny white font on a black background is seizure inducing. What's not to like about a good ole fashioned seizure? Nothing. That's what. I may have noticed it before and had just forgotten it due to brain damage. One never knows about these things.

So I had some crap to actually talk about on here, but now I have forgotten all of it. Actually, as I typed that last sentence, I remembered what I want to talk about. Well, I remembered one of the things. Before I get started with that tomfoolery, I would like to mention that I passed the Pharmacy Tech National Exam to be Certified and Whatnot Test with flying colors. In faux, I made the highest score in the southeast. Kudos to me so sayeth the Lord. Amen and amen.

Now on to the randomness. Not randomness without reason. There is more than enough legit reason behind my ranting and randomness. To educate. To inspire. To heal. To educate.

Here we go!

Today, I'd like to talk about one of the greatest fictional characters of all time and the many lessons that he has taught me. I know him as MacGod, but you may know him as MacGyver.

I watched season one of MacGyver last week while I was off work (have seasons two and three at home waiting... woo hoo and the likes). I never realized how completely clueless I was on things dealing with the 1980s. I mean yea, I knew about Popples and Michael Jackson and tight-rolled acid washed jeans and "Knowing is half the battle" and mullets and Billy Joel and The Goonies and "Nobody puts Baby in a corner" and Twisted Sister and Fame and Transformers and "I want my MTV" and Smurfs and side of the head ponytails and wearing your sunglasses at night and a single dangling cross ear ring to set yourself apart as a "bad ass", but there is so much more to the 80s that I never even knew about. Perhaps I was just too young to remember them well enough.

Okay so everyone knows that with a paperclip and a match, anything can be done by MacGyver. This is not about the paperclip or the match. This is about all those other things that this great great man has taught me.

For example, did you know that in almost every household, office, warehouse, vehicle, desert, and forest there was a bundle of clean, untangled rope? There was. Everyone, let me stress that a little harder, EVERYONE had a bundle of rope lying around. I hardly know anyone these days who has a spool of thread much less a bundle of rope. The 70s were running rampant with loose things that needed to be tied down. But alas in 1972, the United States Rope Braiders Union went on a major strike (something to do with cheese) causing the major rope shortage. In 1978 (I did say it was a major strike), the strike was finally over and rope poured out all over the US like wax over the body of a leatherclad tied down midget. That is why everyone had such an abundance of rope. Devo's "Whip It" was another pleasant gem that came as a direct result of the end strike.

Another little known fact about the 80s is that everyone was insanely anal about the cleanliness of their oven. EVERYBODY! There was not a household in the world that did not have a bottle of oven cleaner and at least one or two on standby. They LOVED their ovens.

Germans are bad. Russians are evil incarnate.

Women who were in trouble were always attractive in that "Let's get physical"/Thigh Master sort of way with really big, dry, frizzy, sharp, ozone eating hair. The reason they were the only ones in trouble is because that was the only type of woman that were made back then. Men could range from buff and beautiful to bulky and bald, but the women...THEY were always 1980s perfection. They were also usually pretty stupid and slutty. Any chicka would make out with any fella provided he looked at her and, well, kissed her. It doesn't get any easier than that. They didn't bump uglies so much, but I don't think that that gained any popularity until after the release of Madonna's Truth or Dare. In the 80s, it was strictly heavy petting.

Contrary to popular belief, 80s music never had lyrics. If you could play the sax, you were a GOD! I now have a deeper understanding of Kenny G's popularity. It was not until 1989 that music added lyrics. This new song craze began with the hit Rock Against Drugs and was given a major facelift with the 1990 classic and father of rap music, Tough Boys.

For further information, please visit my page on myspace here. Also, I do realize I ended this suddenly, but I started this a couple of months ago (today is May 25, 2007), forgot about it, and rewrote alot of it on Myspace in a more summarized way. I don't want to continue repeating myself. Thanks.

Later Consuela.

2007-03-04T11:15:00.000-06:00

Mothers, Lockup Your Daughters. I'm Back.

Hey everybody! I'm back. Father O'Flannigan told me that I need to start this thing back up so his coworkers will have something to read and someone to make fun of. So here I am. I'm a lot like Jesus in that way.

Not a lot has been going on. Actually a lot of shit has happened, but who wants to read a year's worth of crap crammed into a post. I sure as shit don't. I'm sure you do not either. So I am just saying "No! No! It's great to say 'No!'" Again, a lot like our Lord Jesus Christ in that respect. Amen. I'll give a quick rundown of the past year.

Preston's 2006 (Early 2007) Rundown

by Preston Lastname

Sponsored in part by Mennen

January: Did some things.

February: Continuation of January's things and quit "blogging" (I hate that word). Also accepted job as freelance graphic designer/cover art designer (their title not mine) for company's magazine.

March: First issue published. By the way, it is a cleaning supply company's magazine. It is an international company, but still it is not anything to brag about. If it were, I'd have the name listed and send out copies and whatnot.

April: Second issue published. Possibly boinked someone.

May: Quit the freelance shit after being gerbil ass raped and then fisted out of a large chunk o'change by those commie cleaner bastards. After I had already done a buttload of work for the May issue and completely put together this huge campaign they were doing about changing the company's name. I also designed their new logo, but due to the falling out, they couldn't use it and are now stuck with a pile of wombat dung. Slightly bitter.

June: Bad month.

July: Bad month other than being accepted at the Art Institute of Portland. I would have been studying under Will Vinton, the father of Claymation.

August: Couldn't afford tuition. Drank heavily. Dated and boinked someone I am not at liberty to discuss on here for my own protection.

September: Turned 25. Drank heavily. "Hey remember..." followed by any childhood hero/tv show flew out of my mouth more than usual. Recapturing childhood or something I guess. Continued to boink He Whom We Do Not Speak Of.

October: Broke up with HWWDNSO on our three month after he...nevermind. Great story. Perfect actually. Just not worth going into. Also won $1200 dollars money for my Leprechaun costume in two different contests. It is a crap picture but was an awesome costume. Made it all myself including the latex face pieces...oooh...aaah...I know...

November: Ate turkey. Went to Disney World.

December: Still in Disney World. Drank heavily.

January: Visited McMatt in San Francisco since that is where he lives now. Decided I need to move away. Want to move there now inspite of the fact that it is really fucking gay. They take the butt sex crazy seriously over there. Also boinked someone (not in San Francisco but local). Got a record player (not to be confused with a turntable)

February: Took the Pharmacy Tech National Exam to be Certified and Whatnot Test. Boinked someone. Started back at the Y. Was accused of giving Father O a handjob even though he and I have never done anything like that. Apparently, in some cultures, finding a person's rings on a coffee table is sign numero uno of a little of that wah WAH wowie ZOWIE ZOW of the hand persuasion. Watch out now!

General: Still smoking. Talked about drinking more than actually drank. Masturbated. Became obsessed with Dubb and his downfall. Accepted the fact that from 25 to 30, you are dead in the gay world inspite of the few scattered boinkings (not the same as the butt sex which is why it is called "the butt sex" or "bumping uglies"). Started editing pictures in MS Paint habitually. Became a pseudostalker not unlike Jesus. Glory!

Now, we're all up to speed. I'm still a vegetarian until I am shitty drunk and starving without options. I do eat the occasional chicken or seafood. Gotta keep up the protein to build up my guns. Afterall, what's a gunshow without guns? A rhetorical question, but I'd guess a monster truck rally without the monster trucks.

I ran this theory past Father O while we were sitting naked, other than the Y's microtowel, and dripping with post workout sweat in the sauna the other morning. (Now, now ladies. Calm down. There are still plenty of seats on the Preston Express.) I have decided that the Egyptians did not build the pyramids. Instead, early movie producers did it as the first major movie promotional gimmick in an attempt to destroy Walt Disney. Felix had lost some popularity because of ole Walt's work, so they built the pyramids to promote the launch of their "Felix the Cat" cartoons. Popularity of the pyramids caught on. This made the so-called "ancient Egyptians" popular. That of course made cats suddenly become popular, so Felix was saved. As far as "historical documents" that talk about the pyramids before this time, the producers simply rewrote history. Since no one was alive back then, it has gone by completely unnoticed all these years. That is, of course, until today. If this were Crack the Case, I'd be a "master detective" (sadly, a somewhat obscure reference). Father O's response to this was something to the effect of, "It's hot in here. Are you ready to go?"

Later Consuela.

2006-06-06T07:18:00.000-05:00

2006-02-22T23:49:00.000-06:00

You've been a Great Crowd! Thank You and Goodnight!

This will probably be the last thing I post on here. I have not really posted anything in awhile. I have enjoyed having this blog/journal/rant outlet/whatever for the past two years. It has served its purpose well, but I no longer feel like I need it. I'll keep it online for another month or so, but will then either transfer it elsewhere or switch it to a private blog. Not really sure which. Hell, I'll probably just leave it online. Add to the rest of the abandoned waste that is online.

Thanks to those of you who read and commented. I hope some of my pointless craziness was at least a little entertaining to you.

I have gone back and reread this entire thing. I am not at all the same person today that I was back in February of 2004 when I started this thing. I do not mean I have had a sex change or anything. That would have definitely taken up at least one post on here afterall. I also do not mean that through Consuela I have become a better or worse man than I was then. I just mean that I have changed alot and things have changed alot around me. Some of my old likes and dislikes have changed. Some people that I may have spoken about constantly on here and absolutely adored are no longer in my life. Some people that I didn't know then and have never even mentioned on here have become the current big guns in my arsenal of friends. Alot has just changed. But then, that is just the way life is I guess.

I noticed that after awhile of writing on here, my writing went from a somewhat light-hearted whatever it once was to a place for me to bitch about everything. I guess I am just tired of bitching all the damned time. As John Cusack's character Lloyd Dobler in "Say Anything" said, "Why can't you be in a good mood? How hard is it to decide to be in a good mood and be in a good mood once in a while?" I have been trying to get to that point lately. I am trying to stay in a good mood. To be a better person. Well, that isn't really true. I don't necessarily want to be a better person, I just want to be a happy one. I feel like I waste and have wasted too much time being an overly irritable ass. It has gotten old. Since this turned pretty much into a bitch journal and less the aimless rant place it had started as, I think it is time to just give it up. If some weird random ass story pops to mind, I may eventually add more to this. As for now, I am thru. So again, thanks for reading and remember Jesus is the reason for the season!

Later Consuela. Maybe I'll see you around someday.

Preston

2006-01-22T07:19:00.000-06:00

2005-12-23T10:08:00.000-06:00

Happy Merry Whatever

I've had alot on my plate lately. I've been working almost nonstop either at the hospital or on stuff for other websites and my portfolio. I've pretty much been spending every spare moment either Macromedia Flashing my ass off, sculpting my fingers to the nubbin, doing photos of people like the one I did of Zoey (It is on the bottom left here. If interested in commissioning something, email me. I like money.), taking care of the two chinchillas that I have now (Mork and RC or Lenny or "the little one" depending on what I call him at the moment), storyboarding and character designing like crazy, and building the sets and stop-motion puppets for my next big personal project. I've been trying to get the last one off the ground for awhile now, but thanks to a certain someone, I finally have everything I need to actually get started. I desperately want to go to the Savannah College of Art and Design, which is practically impossible to get into, for stop-motion animation. I am now trying to get a portfolio together that is as close to perfect as I am capable, so that with luck, I'll actually make it in. My apartment has gone from an apartment to a studio with a bathroom, bed, and two furry, raisin addicted mascots.

That's pretty much all that I have been doing for the past, almost, two months. I have pretty much no social life other than the two or three visits I get biweekly from random friends and the one or two times I take a break and actually leave this place for cigarettes or a drink. I've not been to Memphis and seen any of them since around September I think. I am going to Memphis for New Year's though. I've been telling them for about six week or so that I am coming up to visit, but always get preoccupied with all the other junk. New Year's weekend I am definitely tearing myself away and heading up to see my second family.

So anyway, I need to get back to painting this damned thing before I decide to quit for the day.

Oh, also I am vegetarian now. Not sure how long I have to live the lifestyle before I can officially say that. I am doing well with it, so I'll assume it is safe to say.

Later Consuela.

2005-11-11T18:12:00.000-06:00

2005-11-08T07:41:00.000-06:00

2005-10-30T01:06:00.000-06:00

2005-10-27T17:31:00.000-05:00

2005-10-25T03:46:00.000-05:00

Captain Planet, He's Our Hero!

I've noticed in the past several...well, just in the past that everyone seems to know the Captain Planet theme song. EVERYONE! At least, everyone in the 17 to 27 year old age range. Try to sing it. Seriously. You probably know it. I am not certain, but I bet if you went to an Amish community in Amlandington Falls, Ohio, you'd hear little Amlings (I guess that is what Amish children are called) running around singing that song. It is madness, I tell you. Pure madness!

I blame the government. I believe when all the superhyped, end-of-the-world, "Aquanet ate the ozone causing my sheep to be born with toes, webbed ones at that" stuff was really getting going in the 1980s and early '90s, the government decided to try a new approach to saving the world...sorry had to have a little internal chortle at the thought of the government trying to save the planet. Anyway, instead of having Susan Powter try her screeching, "Stop the insanity! I've had way too much ginseng" approach (which apparently never worked for weightloss since there is such a problem these days with obesity), Ronald Reagan, "Weird Al" Yankovic, and George Bush Sr. decided to reach America and help future generations of the world thru the cunning use of mindcontrol. Specifically, mindcontrol of children. The children are the future as they say (I want to meet this mysterious "they").

Originally, the three major American powers of the '80s made a hard hitting, balls to the wall cartoon featuring the three as a superhero action team. They would combine forces, not unlike the Power Rangers, and fight. It was only on-air for about a week because parents felt it was too bloody and, the characters, too bitchy.

Once that was trashed, they moved on to a few other random shows including the classic telethon "Ties 4 a Better Tomorrow" hosted by Paula Poundstone (I just noticed how much she looks like Edina Monsoon from Absolutely Fabulous). As this did not seem to appeal to the younger crowd, or anyone else for that matter, they decided to stick with making cartoons.

One day, during their monthly toga party, Bush announced, "Bon Jovi! I think I've got it!"

"What is it? What is..what...is what. What? Where am I? *cough* Toga," said Reagan nearly choking on a jelly bean as he shoveled another handful from a pouch he had sewn into his toga.

"WOOOO!" added "Weird Al" as he did a little jig and played another glorious polka.

"Dude, get this, okay. So we have this guy, right. And he wants to save the planet, right."

"Gorbachev is a poo head."

"Stay focused, Ronnie. So he needs to save the planet because if it dies, he dies. So this guy, he is..."

"But wait wouldn't everyone die if the planet died?" Al interjected. "I mean, if the world really..."

"SILENCE, IMPUDENT MINSTREL MONKEY!! You dare question me?! Now, dance, monkey! DANCE!

"So like I was saying, this super guy, a superhero if you will, will die if the planet dies. There are these kids who have to join together to form him. So they..."

"Wait, how do kids form a planet saving superhero?"

"They use magic duct tape! Now shut up, you. So they duct tape themselves toge..."

"So couldn't anyone duct tape themselves together to form a superhero. And how come we have to have something join together in our cartoon? It didn't work with "The R.A.G." so why would it work this time?"

"If you shut the hell up and focus on your accordion for a minute, I will explain. So they use these magic sweatbands to join togethe..."

"I thought you said they used duct tape."

"Nancy, where's my Chia Pet? He's hungry, Nancy. It is time to feed him. Chia... I like cake."

"Ronald, Nancy is at the Betty Ford cocktail mixer with Susan Powter. Your Chia Pet is not here. That is Al's head. And I can stick them together with whatever I want, "Unusual Al" Yankovic. I am the president."

"It's "WEIRD AL" and you know it! You know how much I hate it when you call me that."

George stared at the Yankovic for a moment trying to melt his brain with the powers ET gave him in exchange for a bag of Reese's Pieces. After ten minutes, he gave up realizing he had been had by the little French bastard.

"So like I was saying, they use their magic rings to join forces and bec..."

"Ooo...magic rings! I like that!"

"Jelly beans!"

"One more Al! One more."

"But I was just saying that I..."

Bush Sr. picked up Reagan and batted Al in the head with him.

"I warned you. Didn't I warn him, Ronnie," as George put Reagan back down on the floor next to the pile of jelly beans he'd been seperating.

"THAT's uh SPICY MEATBALL!" Reagan responded.

"Good Reagan. So they take their rings, activate their powers, and he appears."

Al raised his hand, flinching a little.

"Yes, Al. And remember what happened last time, so choose your words carefully."

"Yes sir, Mr. President, sir. Sir, it sounds good, but how will we get the kids hooked on this one? We've tried the joint superhero thing before. Uh sir."

"Yes, we did. This time they cause him to appear. They do not actually become him."

"Oh yea. I noticed you had changed your story again from them becoming him to him just appearing, but I didn't mention it beca..."

George grabbed Reagan again by the ankles and thwacked Al in the head followed by a Reagan battering ram to the stomach.

"You mixed up my jelly beans," Ron yelped.

"I'm sorry, Ronald. It is "Unusual Al"'s fault. Apologize to him, Al!"

"I'm sorry, Ronald."

George, putting him down gently, "Now you go play with your beans, sweety. "

"Jelly beans!"

"Okay, your jelly beans. I have to explain to this putz how we will succeed with this show, ergo vis-a-vis."

"I don't think you used either of those correctly."

"What did you say!?"

"I said, 'I think I will play a little ditty on the accordion, sir.'"

"That doesn't even sound like what you said."

As Al began to play his accordion, Ronnie stood up in a trance and began to do the Safety Dance.

"BON JOVI! That's it. We will have a theme song that will make the children watch the show. They will watch, and they will learn. Then, when they are older, they will be obsessed with health and the planet's health, and the planet will be saved! Then I shall be known as the captain of the spaceship that is this planet earth! YES!"

"Oh! Oh! We could call it Captain Plan..."

"And it shall be called CAPTAIN PLANET!" as George hammered Al's stomach with the Reagan letter 'S'.

"So I'll do the music then?" rasped "Weird Al".

"No, you will not. We need something with staying power. We need a real musician. We need that Sussudio kid... Joan's grandson... What's his name?"

"You mean Phil Collins?"

"You're my best friend," Ronald murmured into the paperclip holder on the Oval Office desk.

"YES! Phil Collins! We must have him. Now fly, fly, fly, Minstrel Monkey! Fly!"

"But I can't fly. How about I just...AAAAAAAAAAH!!" Bush Sr. grabbed Al by his wafro and suspender bottoms and flung him thru the Oval Office window. He walked back to his desk, sat down, and pulled a jar of jelly beans from one of the drawers, shaking them.

"Here Ronnie! Here boy!" Reagan stopped doing the Safety Dance, jumped into George's lap, and curled up in his toga for a nap.

"We will save this planet. Oh, yes. We will."

"Toga."

So that is basically what happened. Now you know from whence that song came. Amazing story, huh?

Well, that is all I have time for. Gotta pack my last bit of stuff.

Later Consuela.

2005-10-23T02:54:00.000-05:00

!!SHOP!! (Just a Lil Overly Excited)

I have a large enough chunk of the online shop thing for Rabid Chinchilla related items and my other one for fucked up sacreligious shit that I decided to put a link to it on here. I'll be adding a shitty buttload more crap to it, so visit regularly and buy alot. I'm serious. I will kill you if you do not comply.

Vote PRESTON!

Later Consuela.

2005-10-22T07:17:00.000-05:00

2005-10-22T05:38:00.000-05:00

I AM NOT CRAZY!

I'm just kidding. I know that I am. I've just been listening to my future baby momma's song Teary Eyed all night. It is, of course, by that complex muti-talented faux lesbo, Missy Elliott. Boy oh boy do I love her. Hmmmmm.....

So yea. Nothing is going on. I am working on setting up an online shop to sell everything rabid and chinchilla that I can think of. My job is paying me. Well, they have told me that I am being paid to be up in this bitch. They could have fooled me though. I am fuckin broke yet again with a whole bloody week before I am paid again. That is just a shame. Once I have the shop thing all up and running I will put a ginormous flashing neon link in the sidebar. I need to make sure somebody sees it, hell. I'm tired of being a starving artist.

So I need to pack when I get off work, but I'll probably just do the exact same thing I always do. Get naked. Get in bed. Turn on television. Watch Gilmore Girls. I am recently hooked on it again. Why? Well, because it is one of the greatest shows in the known universe. If you disagree, well then just disagree I suppose. I mean, what the hell do I care if you don't like it? I don't like you anyway. Well, normally I don't. You are such a nag.

Pass that Dutch. Pass that Dutch. Everytime I hear this song I think of this. I may be wrong, but I get a feeling that that is not what she means. Actually, it prolly is. She's such a sweet kid that Missy Misdemeanor Elliott. She's going places.

Good lord I have a headache. OH! Father O'Flannigan's puppy will be home today. The puppy's name is Matay or Matae or Meaty. I call him Maitai. I mainly do it because Father O is verging on a nervous breakdown and I have a deathwish.

What the hell was I going to talk about other than my breasts? I forget.

No I don't! No I don't! No I don't! Sorry just remembered. Father O says that I could lose my job over this blog. I know that people have lost their jobs over blogs in the past, but those people were idiots. They spoke the truth. Everyone knows that everything on here is just crap I am making up. This is my extremely loosely based in reality blog. I also have my alterego blog. Then there is the "This is going to be my first book and is pretty much autobiographical other than I switched names of people and Eeyore is not a trannie" blog. Then the "This is not at all based in reality but is, instead, my real first book seriously this time, dammit" blog. I doubt anyone will fire me as it is perfectly clear that none of the carp I write is true. Using the word none loosely as well as the word carp. I have never eaten carp but I think I would like to. I think it is a fish though I am not sure. Maybe I should look that up. Dah, it isn't that important.

Preston for prime minister.

Later Consuela.

2005-10-11T10:02:00.000-05:00

Corbin, Can You Hear Me?

I had yet another in a recent chain of absolutely insane and random dreams yesterday. When I woke up, I jotted this on a piece of paper. The spelling is off, but I was still asleep while writing.

"Corban clean obsticle course sex 1 million black girl from Centerstage Stacy"

Okay, so all that I remember today about the dream is that there was this huge obstacle course which looked like something from one of those Double Dare or GUTS (moreso like GUTS) type Nickelodeon shows.

12-10-05, 3:27am
(Okay this dream in addition to the colder weather had me feeling a bit, we'll just say verging on calling a 900 number yesterday, so I met up with someone, took care of that, and am now ready to continue the story. Though in reality, I could have left all that out as no one would have even known I'd been away. Oh well.)

I was competing for one million dollars and Corban (who is Nataschia's boyfriend from high school). Corban was the love of my life in the dream and we'd apparently been together forever. He was being held captive by the shows host and my competitor, Zoe Saldana, the Centerstage girl. My sister, Stacy, was my teammate. I cannot figure out why I wrote the word "clean" but I remember winning the game.

Not sure if I ended up with the money. After winning, the scene completely switched to a bedroom where Corban and I were doing the dirty-dirty. It was....special.

So yea, basically I now have a new pretend boyfriend. Read his blogs again. Got caught up with everything going on with him. All that fun, crazy, stalker type stuff. I just do not understand why the hell he randomly popped into my dream. Oh well, maybe it is a sign that he is about to come out, track me down, and we'll live happily ever after.

It is weird that it was him of all people because I've only been around the guy once in my life and have only spoken to him maybe twice. I did tell Nataschia that he would be the perfect guy for me if he weren't straight. I think I told him that too. I don't know. Maybe this was all brought on by the fact that I've been single for a good minute now and am not used to it. Oh well. Who knows.

Later Consuela.

2005-10-09T06:01:00.000-05:00

Vengeance Incarnate
or
Oh No You Deh-eh!

Father O'Fannypack told me the other day that he knows what I should go as for Halloween. Of course, he was just trying to make a little funny when he said I should go as Vengeance Incarnate. I told him that be too difficult, because I'd have to go around all night looking for things to get pissed off about just so I could be vengeful. I think that was a run-on. Anyway, it would be difficult. Well, not so much difficult, just no. He was being... well...something anyway. What was the point? Oh yea. I am a vengeful shit. That's what I was getting to.

So the nazi party that employs me (should that "n" be uppercase?), rather my direct supervisor who is the head of the Nazis since Paula Poundstone stepped down (I'll just switch between the two), has been a complete, and I use this term loosely, flaccid horse's dick in a third world sex show with scab whores. Not exactly sure what that is supposed to mean other than he has been especially nasty to me lately. What makes it worse is he is good at it. He knows how to be a complete Dildo McNugget in a way that makes it impossible to get any real hard evidence to prove his nazi shit headism. Then the bastard tries to play all sweet and innocent and bosom buddy chum chum chuh-ree with my ass. I don't like him much.

Anyway, as a lowly technician, there are very few things I can do to get back at him without losing my job. So I figured out my own little disgusting way of irritating him. The cheap labels.

Okay so in a nutshell, pharmacist enters medication orders into computer. Computer sends information to label printer. Printer prints label. Tech fills label. Pharmacist signs label saying it was filled correctly. That's as simplified as tech work's explanation gets. Actually. Enter. Send. Print. Fill. Sign. I won't dumb it down any further. Anywho, where was I? Yea so Father O has been making fun of my dry face for a couple of days now. My skin always gets dry when the weather changes drastically. Well, what little oils or grease or crisco or shiny whatever my face has, well, had is being sacrificed to the cause. For a couple of days now, I've been rubbing oil from my skin onto the label to make his overpriced pen get gunked up and nasty and not work on the labels. I know how insane/disgusting that may be...okay is but it is all I can do.

I've been to the head of the department and she says that he says that he doesn't realize he is doing anything. I told her of course he is not going to admit to treating us like modern slaves. Why the hell would he? So until I come up with something more diabolical and less disgusting than rubbing face crisco all over labels for him, I'll continue to lube up.

I was going to talk about this odd feeling I had the other night up here, but it is rather pointless (as opposed to the normal garbled shite I prattle on about). Very quickly, I was outside smoking the other night at work. As I walked across a manhole cover which leads to the sewer, I had an odd feeling of almost deja vu. The smell of sewage and cigarette smoke coupled with the cool air made me feel really lonely all of a sudden. A couple of seconds later, I realized why that smell brought such deep feelings of loniless and longing (not in a rar rar rar sexy sort of way but longing in a Fievel An American Tail sort of way). It was the smell of New York. So anyway, I want to go back to New York now. I miss it there.

Later Consuela.

2005-10-04T22:26:00.000-05:00

I'm Still Standin'

I have in the past several weeks thrown myself back into my art. My main concern over the past week has been updating the Chinchilla. It has been desperate for a facelift, but I've been too lazy to do it until now. The lift was a success, though it is still not quite complete. It is close enough to completion to go ahead and put up for viewing.

Nothing has really been going on with me lately. I poured myself into the site and have been sketching like a madman who enjoys sketching. I also started, for some reason which I can only assume is not total insanity, speaking to myself with a pirate accent while I work on any project. It is completely random, I know.

I have some official news about the move that I keep saying has already taken place but has not. I will officially be moving away to Cambodia on November first. I'm very excited. Not that I do not enjoy living under Father O'Flannigan, but the living situation is a little too cramped for either of us.

I guess that is all for now. I don't really have much to talk about. I still have my mind on the Chinch at the moment. I guess the only thing I have left to say is if you know where I can get some comparatively inexpensive pre-stretched gallery style canvas that is around 48" x 60" with 1 3/4" stretcher bars, please let me know.

Later Consuela.

2005-09-16T03:24:00.000-05:00

Bollywood

So everyone is alright on this end. For the most part, things are back to some semblance of normalcy around here. For those who lost everything, they are either starting to rebuild or planning out the rebuilding of their lives. I saw the Cap'n finally. He is keeping himself together pretty well, though he's one of the strongest people I know. I'm not surprised he is remaining level headed.

I meant to post this, and may very well have via audioblog, but if I have, then just skip this part. My mom told me during the major power outage that her phone was working. Obviously it was. She was on the phone when she told me. Anyway, she told me that while she sat in her dark house, hungry, and verging on heatstroke that the phone rang. She answered, hoping it was one of the several family members that we'd not yet heard from at that time. A voice came over the phone. "Hello! This is Blahdiblah from the Blahdiblah Corporation of America. Yes, I am a recording, but you need to buy what I am selling even though I can;t take the time to have a real, live person call you to sell it." My mom hit zero about 40 million times trying to get an operator. In her words, "Preston, I wanted to talk to a live person. No, I NEEDED to speak to someone. I waited and hit zero sooo many times, because I really REALLY NEEDED to speak to someone! What the hell kind of nerve do they have calling me?! Did they not know what the hell was going on?! Did they REALLY think I was interested in buying their shit anymore than I am under normal circumstances?! Preston, if I could have gotten someone on the phone, I would have cussed them for all they were worth. A sailor could not have cussed them out the way I was going to cuss them! I NEEDED to speak to a real person BADLY!" I love my mom.

Well, my birthday, September fifth, came and went without much notice again this year. Was kind of glad about that. This was not something I wanted to celebrate. That is, I suppose, the only positive thing I can pull from the whole Katrina thing. My Number 1 Boo called me at midnight on my birthday to be the first to wish me a happy birthday. It meant alot coming from her. She always does something for me for my birthday. I tell her not to, but you know. She's the one who was stationed on the coast when the hurricane hit. I love my Meeka Boo. So other than one or two gifts, I made it out of the birthday in one piece. Now, I just feel old. Old, old, old. Looking into retirement villages now.

I started feeling fat again, so I am back on my workout kick. I must say, I am seeing better results this time than I ever have before. They are coming alot faster too. Good thing too. The boys in Austin are hot and only like other hot boys. Don't think I am hot by any means, but I can get as close to room temp as possible. Hoping to maybe even make it to lukewarm. Fingers are crossed.

I started writing again in my book since I took a long ass break from it during a dry spell. Didn't have writer's block, just lazy and uninspired. I'm loving how it is turning out. Now if I can just finish the bitch up and get her published. When I finish it, I'm gonna start a book of short stories. I'm just goingt o convert all my old screenplays and short film ideas into a series of short stories. They'll be weird, but hopefully someone somewhere wil enjoy them.

I'm making the long, treacherous drive out tomorrow to look for an apartment as I have decided to live alone. If I could convince Father O to move with me to Denver, I'd keep a roomie. He really is the only one who has ever made any sense. We work well together I think. We know how to annoy each other, read each other, and stay out of each other's way. Plus, we love each other. He refuses to say it, but I know he loves me. I am his extra chromosomed, broken horned, one winged unicorn with the odd chest growth/deformity. How could he not love that? Just really wish I could convince him to move to Memphis. Oh well. Atlanta will have to be okay with only getting me instead of the two of us. I love Orlando.

Shit it is four o'clock in the morning. I am off to bed.

Later Consuela.

2005-09-07T02:43:00.000-05:00

Pictures from Jackson
The quality is not the greatest, because they were taken on my cell phone, but you get the idea.

Again, poor quality and not many pictures, but that is all I had to snap pictures with. The phone's memory was almost full so I could only get these before it stopped me.

Later Consuela.

2005-09-02T19:22:00.000-05:00

2005-09-02T19:20:00.000-05:00

2005-09-02T19:06:00.000-05:00

2005-09-02T19:01:00.000-05:00

2005-08-30T04:11:00.000-05:00

Category 5. Category 4 upon landfall. 135 mile per hour winds. 22 foot high storm surge at the Gulf Coast and New Orleans. 9 foot deep flood water in parts of French Quarter. Up to 20 feet in one New Orleans neighborhood. At least 55 dead at the coast with 30 of those from one apartment complex. At least 3 dead in Jackson. 277,610 of Mississippi's Entergy Power customers without electricity with 70,000 of them being in Jackson. 370,000 without power in Louisiana. 400,000 in Alabama. St Dominic Hospital of Jackson without power and with a generator that failed. 89 calls behind at American Medical Response (AMR) the ambulance service used by the Jackson area. $9-$16 billion in damage.

Some pictures from Yahoo and will add some of my own when I have a chance to take them:

A view of the Sadler Apartments in Biloxi, Mississippi after Hurricane Katrina destroyed them and close to 100 condominiums on the Biloxi waterfront August 29, 2005. Hurricane Katrina ripped into the U.S. Gulf Coast on Monday, stranding people on rooftops as it pummeled the historic jazz city New Orleans with 100 mph (160 kph) winds and swamped Mississippi resort towns and lowlands with a crushing surge of seawater. Photo by Mark Wallheiser/Reuters

People walk amidst the remains of the St Charles Condominiums and Sadler Apartments in Biloxi, Mississippi, August 29, 2005, which were pushed up between the private homes on St Charles Street by the storm surge from Hurricane Katrina. Hurricane Katrina ripped into the U.S. Gulf Coast on Monday, stranding people on rooftops as it pummeled the historic jazz city New Orleans with 100 mph (160 kph) winds and swamped Mississippi resort towns and lowlands with a crushing surge of seawater. REUTERS/Mark Wallheiser

Towboat and shipyard workers John (L) and Michelle Welborn (C) walk with Robert Rishel (R) away from the Mobile Bay after an oil rig (background) tore free of its moorings as Hurricane Katrina lashed the Alabama coast before surging downriver and smashing into a suspension bridge in Mobile.(AFP/Paul J. Richards)

A man puts his baby on top of his car as he and a woman abandon their car after it started to float when Hurricane Katrina hit the Treme area of New Orleans August 29, 2005. The White House said Monday it was willing to use the government's emergency oil stockpile to help refiners hurt by Hurricane Katrina's rampage through the Gulf of Mexico, but that it was too early to decide if or how much crude should be released. The storm slammed into New Orleans on Monday with winds of 135 mph (216 kph), shutting 91 percent of the normal 1.5 million barrels per day of crude oil production in the Gulf Coast region. (Rick Wilking/Reuters)

Chest-deep water dumped from hurricane Hurricane Katrina collects in the street in New Orleans, Louisiana. Hurricane Katrina battered New Orleans, flooding entire neighborhoods and causing widespread destruction, but kept the worst of its deadly wrath for neighboring Mississippi whose governor spoke of 'catastrophic damage.'(AFP/Getty Images/Chris Graythen)

John Volkmann (L) and his wife Kathy of Pass Christian, Mississippi, run for shelter as a piece of sheetmetal flies through the air as Hurricane Katrina hits a hotel in Gulfport, Mississippi August 29, 2005. The storm made landfall early this morning, hitting the coastal gulf city of New Orleans, Louisiana. (Frank Polich/Reuters)

U.S. President George W. Bush talks about Medicare prescription-drug benefits for senior citizens during a town hall-style meeting at a retirement community in Rancho Cucamonga, California, August 29, 2005. Bush also briefly talked about Hurricane Katrina and the Iraqi constitution. REUTERS/Jeff Mitchell

Other Yahoo photos, mostly New Orleans and the Gulf Coast:

Later Consuela.

2005-08-23T00:43:00.000-05:00

My Hell is Protected by the Blue and Yellow Make Green Seal

Aaaah wisdom teeth. Sweet, glorious, pointless wisdom teeth. Mine are no longer with me. As of last Thursday, I have been set free of the wisest teeth of them all. They were apparently, according to Dr. Cox, causing me problems. I suppose he should know, but I saw no harm in them. I had considered getting them ripped from my, now blood clotted and aching, gums many times in the past, but found no reason to. He said I should go for it, so I went. I want to be hit by a car that I am driving, fall into a coma, and not wake up again until my mouth is healed. This is mindnumbing. It is causing me to almost breakdown to emotionless sobbing. I am on mepergan and Lortab Plus, but they only make me sleepy. Going crazy am I.

Also, I found a scrotum lump a few weeks ago. Well, it was a knot inside my scrotum. It was like a smaller, bumpy third testicle. Now I get to go see if it is gonna be cancerous. Woo bloody hoo!

On a happier note, I heard from a potential job and am going for an interview next Wednesday at 1:30. I have been leading everyone to believe that I am moving to one city and state when I am actually moving to a completely different location. I want to completely disappear and start over. How often do you get the chance to do that? You know I have to take advantage of it. So to everyone assuming or that I have told I am moving to Rocky Top, you might be a little disappointed/surprised.

My fucking mouth is killing me. Gotta get in bed.

Later Consuela.

2005-08-09T18:33:00.000-05:00

2005-08-09T18:29:00.000-05:00

2005-08-06T05:24:00.000-05:00

2005-08-05T16:28:00.000-05:00

2005-08-05T16:12:00.000-05:00

2005-08-05T15:57:00.000-05:00

2005-08-05T15:52:00.000-05:00

2005-08-02T10:55:00.000-05:00

2005-07-30T21:34:00.000-05:00

2005-07-30T21:24:00.000-05:00

2005-07-29T13:30:00.000-05:00

2005-07-29T13:24:00.000-05:00

2005-07-29T12:45:00.000-05:00

2005-07-27T02:54:00.000-05:00

InPrestonated

That is what Father O says I am. He asked if I am in love with fella. I told him, "Oh Nooooooo... No no no." He asked about being infatuated. I said, "Wouldn't really call it infatuation." He said, "You are inprestonated with him." I knew exactly what he meant. It was the most absolutely perfect way to describe it. It is the way I feel and act and am when I am interested in a guy. Inprestonated. He then went on to say it wouldn't work out between myself and fella as I am a cerebral person and fella is a physical one. He was right about us both to an extent and may be right about it not working out between us if anything ever comes of it, but still. Well, he was exactly right about me and partially right about fella. I almost hate that he knows me so well. I'm gonna miss him. There is a very good chance that within the next month, I'll have moved to Memphis. No not for fella. Fella is the really fucking nice icing on the cake (The icing that according to Gay Momma's rules I am to scrape off and set aside, never to ever ever ever partake. Luckily, I am grown and what Gay Momma doesn't know won't kill her.) No I've gone thru all my reasons I feel I am supposed to move to Memphis. I'm being pointed in that direction. By the way, best trip to Memphis ever while being one of the worse ever. It was the best of times. It was the worst of times and all that jazz. I really had a fan-motha fuckin-tastic time. I did have a drunken emotional breakdown Monday night. It was a biggie. Too much change going on in my life at once for me to handle I suppose. Here is what I sat and scribbled on pieces of paper to myself in my drunken mess: (Actually, I am just gonna end it because I don't feel like bringing it all back up.)

Later Consuela.

2005-07-19T04:16:00.000-05:00

Fuck Lemony Snicket!

This is yet another uneventful night at the Preston house. Actually, I am at work, but I may as well live in this trailer (Just to clarify, since that term has confused people in the past, "trailer" refers to any building that I am referring to. Also see "hole". "Let's go to Chris's trailer in the Memphis hole." Now that everyone is on the same page...).

This week, however, has unfortunately not been quite as uneventful. Tommie was fired over some bullshit. Well, not fired, but this is what happened. He had requested off work for the weekend (Friday night thru Monday night) of July fourth waaay back in March. It was approved. Ten minutes before we left work the morning of July first, his first off day, he gave his vacation time request entry thingy to Gary Coleman (not his actual name, but he looks like a supersized Coleman) the night shift supervisor. GC got all pissed because Tommie had gone over his head to have it approved and told Tommie that he had to be here. Blah blah blah hoocha hoocha hoocha. Tommie called in Sunday and Monday night. His shift was covered. There was a big fuh-laffle over the whole thing. Human resources (which apparently is not actually staffed by humans. I checked.) informed a boss who informed a boss flunky who informed a demiboss flunky who informed the demiboss flunky's flunky (who looks like the catfish in Big Fish) who informed Tommie via email that he was not to return to work until further notice. So Tommie got another job working for the place he's been interning at. Is that the correct way to say that? Prolly not. At any rate, my conjoined twin and I have now been seperated. Very upsetting.

Malice (Like the little lost ghetto Peanuts Gang member, huh?) turned in her two weeks notice, so she'll be gone in, well, two weeks or after our next rotation. There are only three techs who work each rotation, so yea. Here I am. All by my lonesome. Yet another sign from *insert deity of choice* that I am to move to Memphis. Oh yea, Malice called in sick for three days this week. I got a feel for the place and what it'll be like working alone. I need a handgun.

I've had the face of a certain younger someone who is not currently single, let-alone in the same state, burned into my mind and driving me crazy all week. Not that it is a bad image mind you. I am just ready to get back up there and see him. I will be in the apartment all weekend by myself. Well, by that I mean, Gay Momma will be here in Jackson, TT D will be moving to Atlanta, and Brooks will be deepsea fishing. So I will be there alone as far as my usual Memphis supervision is concerned. MC Matt is going with me, but has to come back Sunday. I have to stay thru Tuesday, so I can job hunt. Seperate cars...woo bloody hoo... Phene will be around me thinks. The Wonder Twins should be around. Centrum should. Yea basically, all the babies of my gay family will be together without supervision. I can already smell a scandal. OH OH OH!! I do get to see the Bob Dylan exhibit on Saturday, so I am pretty fuckin' stoked about that. Been meaning to see it since May and this is its last weekend. Happiness! Sorry had to find some Dylan to listen to. He is so awesome

I ran into Britrat online the other night. She'll be in Jackson Wednesday thru Friday. We're gonna hang out. Catch up. All that jazz. Oh and today I am supposed to go see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory with Candice. One of my favorite actors teaming up, yet again, with my favorite director. What could be better?! Well, I have a couple of things that' be a little better to me, but that is neither here nor there. Perhaps somewhere in the middle. Yea definitely in the middle.

I am going to see another friend of mine from high school, Jesse Mae, next Tuesday on my way back from the Memphis hole. It'll be fun and shit.

I am exhausted from a long work week and thinking about this busy busy week I have ahead of me. I have been only taking in protein shakes and turkey for the most part this week. Maybe that is what is wrong with me. That and everything going on and working out like a madman. I gotta make myself look fine before this weekend if I'm gonna get what I want. Not that that should be what it is all based on, but I'd rather have another plus than a strike, ya know. It can't hurt.

One more thing, do you ever look in the mirror and get shocked? I don't mean in a "oh my *insert deity of choice* I want to do naughty things to myself" or in a "oh my *insert deity of choice* do I really look like that" sort of way, but more of a "oh my *insert deity of choice* who is that in the mirror". I have those moments every now and again. Just had one a minute ago. Sometimes, I honestly forget what I look like. When I see my reflection, I have a Dr Sam Beckett Quantum Leap moment. I just stare at my face in awe. Not that I am impressed or upset. It is just a little shocking. It is like I am seeing myself for the first time. This has happened my entire life. I think I have a brain tumor or something. It may be herpes of the brain (thanks Britrat for that term). I'm prolly just a fuckin' ferak (yes ferak not freak).

Later Consuela.

IT'S ALIIIIIIIVE!!!!!

2005-07-15T11:01:00.000-05:00

The Cap'n is hosting once more, so Rabid Chinchilla Productions (RCP) is finally back up and running. This is a really short post, but I had to put this on here as I am all excited an shit. Observe...

This is me when I am not excited...

And this is me when I AM excited...

So, now ya know.

The site has only been back up for a couple of hours now and needs lots of work. In other words, don't expect too much just yet. Oh and have high speed. Otherwise there is pretty much no point in going. Kay? Thanks.

Later Consuela.

2005-07-12T17:08:00.000-05:00

2005-07-12T16:47:00.000-05:00

2005-07-12T16:41:00.000-05:00

2005-07-12T16:25:00.000-05:00

2005-07-06T12:47:00.000-05:00

Legions of Leeches...For Real this Time

Sooo much has happened since my last entry. I hope I can remember it all. Got another facelift as you can see. The other just got too bogged down. Was going to build up from scratch, but decided that this template could be altered slightly. It looks better than it does here, but I have a bunch of picks on this entry. It threw my sidebar stuff to the bottom of the screen. I need to take a web design class or something. It is, other than that, the look I wanted. Thank *insert deity of choice* someone else did all the work.

So this guy that I was hanging out with thought we were dating. It is an easy mistake for anyone given the fact that I specifically said, "I am not looking to date anyone right now. I am just building up my friends in the Jackson area." Honest mistake right? Well, like I said, he decided that we were together. I was busy my last off week with things that keep me busy. He called me at least fifty times in two days. This wouldn't have freaked me out, okay so it probably would, but I told him I would not be around my phone. He also filled my text message inbox. He also sent me about a million offline messages on Yahoo messenger. Again, all things that I probably could have handled. Well, probably not. Anyway, the final straw was when Father O'Flannigan and I were hanging out and getting snotty drunk after a week of not speaking to one another.

It was around two in the morning and we'd just finished watching Catwoman, a movie that I will not even waste my time linking as it was the superhero genre equivalent of Darkness. We started watching some movie called Toolbox Murders, another complete bust, when there was a knock at the door. BUM Bum bum... (dramatic effect, huh)! Father O looked at me and I looked at him and he looked at me looking at him and I looked at him looking at me looking at him and then I got up to answer the door.

Before I'd reached the bedroom door, someone began beating on my bedroom windows. Father O was scared. I was drunk. I answered the door.

"Hey. Where've you been?" What the hell?! Guy had shown up at two a.m. to ask how I have been. He looked terrified and short of breath. Freaked my freak in a bad way to tell ya the truth. To lie, I was happy he had stopped by unannounced in the middle of the night while I was drunk and proceeded to scare the crap outta Father O and my liquid happy ass. It was, admittedly, the best scare we got all night. Anyway, I wedged myself in the doorway to block him from just bursting in. After maybe three minutes of drunken back-and-forthery, he left noticeably hurt. Father O and I, of course, analyzed/belittled his crazy ass and his seemingly psychotic nature until I drifted off (passed out) into a peaceful (alcohol induced) slumber (coma).

The next afternoon, Wednesday, we were both asleep, midnight shifts..., and both woke up to what we thought was someone coming into the house, walking around, then leaving. We sleep on opposite ends of the house and both heard the same thing. Had it not been that way, either of us could have just left it to a fucked up, pointless dream.

The next morning, after working a long twelve hour midnight shift, I came home to pass out and rest up for another grueling day at the office. Not so much grueling as unwanted. I'm sleeping. And sleeping. And sleeping still. Then someone walks into the bedroom. Father O is still awake, so I assume it is him. Plus, the room is dark and I am halfway between sleep and consciousness. It was a tall, slender figure, not unlike Father O, but it moved with the mannerisms of a chicken. Who do I know that bobs and weaves and pecks and struts like that? Guess. I kept my eyes closed hoping he'd see that I was asleep and simply leave. He left the room and returned a moment later to hover over my seemingly sleeping body. All of a sudden he sat on the bed beside me and began to shake me violently. I pretended to be startled into consciousness which wasn't hard considering the shaking freaked me the fuck out. I looked at him, asked what he was doing, then proceeded to be put on a guilt trip. I honestly expected him to show a bare ass revealing where the still wet word "Preston" had been carved with a spork. Instead I was given a lecture about all the things that I owe him because he has had a shitty life. This pissed me off. I can handle alot, but that was too much. No one has had a great life. Deal with it or have a pity party table of one. I mean don't drag my ass into it. I've only known ya a week, bub. I told him to go and that it'd be best if we cut off all contact. I'll probably be killed within the week.

Next on the veranda, my wittle Zoieuypqxr had her first birthday party. She is such a doll. Dats my baby girl. Here are some pictures of since I am not sure if I've posted any of her yet. She just had her first birthday party Monday. She was born July 2, but when you are born that close to a holiday, it's just easier to gather the tribe on the holiday.

This is from around Easter. I think we were getting shoes for her that day or something. Isn't she beautiful? I don't have to ask. I know she is.

Baby girl feeding.

This was after Easter. My bittle baby durl.

That's Zoeyiuyqmpnq's favorite toy/food...a box.

See. That's how much she ate within about a minute.

That's the result of taking her snack. I love that girl. Since I doubt I'll ever be able to ever be a father myself, I'm gonna spoil her like crazy.

So here is a picture or two of my sister, the mother.

Not great pictures, but you get the idea.

So I had to put her picture up before this story. That way, we will all understand who this loverly little lamb is. After reading this, you may understand why I didn't want you to get a bad image of her stuck in your head.

It was a lovely summer day, last week, and all was right in the world. Birds were singing their twittery twit song. The bees were buzzering and flowers...flowering. Stacy was preparing to go...somewhere. We'll say Disney World since it is all shiny and happy and whatnot. Stacy decided to go to Disney World that day, so she began to get all dolled up for her husband, Chris, who was already dressed and waiting for her outside.

She peered out the window to see her Chris doing something to his truck. That doesn't sound very chipper. She peered out the window to see her Chris baking cookies in the truck.

"Golly," thought Stacy, "Today is absolutely perfect. There is only one thing that could make this day more perfect for both myself and Chris." She drew back the curtains, lifted her shirt, and flashed her Chris.

Unfortunately, Chris did not notice it. He was very busy baking his cookies. Stacy, not wanting her chest to go unnoticed, gently tapped the glass of the window, which went almost to the floor before you think she was doing some sort of jump kicky crap, with her foot. Her hands were busy holding up the shirt remember. He did not notice. So she tap tap tapped a little harder. Still no response. So she tried tapping harder still. Nope. Busy with the cookies. So she kicked the window rather hard. He noticed that time for she had kicked the window completely out.

"Fiddle sticks," Stacy said as Chris walked through the door. He looked down at her foot.

"You have a bo bo, honey muffin turtle dove."

"Oh poo! Well, let's go to the hospital then, I suppose." So they went to the hospital and a 78 year old doctor stitched up her foot.

He did a really crap job of it too if you ask me or anyone who is not a total fucktard.

I asked Stacy why the hell she was kicking the window. She told me they were about to leave, and she was trying to flash him. I then had to ask, "Well, Stace, were you leaving your tits at home?" I think she just told me to shut up or something. I love my sis. She always manages to get into the weirdest situations.

Moving on, Father O talked a lady thru childbirth the other night. I was on the phone with him and a 911 call came in from a woman giving birth. He put down the phone, so I got to listen in on the whole thing. He asked if the baby was out. Only half was out. He asked if anything was blocking its airway and told her to scoop it out. He asked if she was having contractions. She said that she did not know. Oh yea, she was paralyzed too. So yea the baby was born and all. It was the craziest thing in the world. Unfortunately, the baby did not live. It is sad really, but...well I guess there is no "but." Oh wait, Father O just told me that the baby lived. He was misinformed before. So all is right once more.

What else? Oh yea. This is minor, but at work, we have leeches. They are apparently extremely expensive and are for medical use. I had to carry a jar of them to one of the floors the other night. I guess they felt the heat from my hand because they all, well, leeched onto the side of the jar where I was holding them. They freak me out. That's the first time I have ever had to deal with them in five years. Actually the second. Both were last week, but I only took them the second time. The first I made Tommie do it. Leeches are creepy as hell.

Oh yea. I discovered this awesome website for online games. Actually it is theis guy Jay's blog, but it is a gaming blog with tons of kick ass games on it. I have the link below and on the sidebar. Well the side bar that is currently taking a vacation at the bottom of the screen. His is the first in the list. The others are recently discovered and rediscovered sites of interest. The Dark Room...you MUST check out. It is incredible. Actually, it is bigger than that, but that is the biggest world I'll use to describe it as I am tired of writing now. The Asylum...well just check that one out too. It's great if you ever want to shrink someone's head.

Oh oh oh! One final note. Here's a picture or four of the completed Alice sculpture I did. It's been complete for awhile now. I just never got around to posting a picture of it.

jay is
Exmortis
Escape the Room
Tokyo Plastic
The Dark Room
My Pet Skeleton
Schmancy Toys
The Asylum

Later Consuela.

2005-06-20T03:27:00.000-05:00

Whatever Happened to a Lighthearted Aimless Rant?

I have moved all but a few empty bottles of wine and liquor that hold some sort of sentimental value to me, a trashbag full of my silverware that Nataschia felt would be best left on the front porch, my bed, and my sofa from what was once my home, now Nataschia's. I will be getting the last few scraps of my life out of hers on Tuesday morning when I get off work. If I must steal a truck and hire a homeless man I will. I need to be free of that place wholly so I can get my new place, my new life, in order. As of right now, my life, well the random figures of plastic and resin, wood and glass, metal and wax, that I pretend represent who I am, are, for the most part, in piles of ill-sorted boxs on the livingroom floor, my new bedroom, of Father O's house. I feel like the last surviving member of some ancient nomadic tribe. That or one of the Junkladies from the Jim Henson movie "Labyrinth". Ah well. I will be done soon enough.

This has been a fairly horrible week at work. It actually has not been so bad. I've just actually had to earn my small chunk of change this week, a feat I am no longer used to.

I heard one of the characters in "Waking Life" (excellent film) say that every seven years or so we reinvent ourselves, so the me of today is not at all the same as the me of seven years ago or the me of seven years from now. I feel like, in my case at least, that change doesn't come gradually. It happens overnight. Tonight feels like that night. I suppose it actually started with that long ass entry I did about being treated like a human, but now it seems to be in its final stage. It is like I have been in a chrysalis as cheesy as that sounds. Not that I think I am going to emerge a butterfly or anything like that. With my luck I'll end up some tentacled beast like "The Thing". This just, for whatever reason, seems like one of those moments. Maybe, I am passing from young adulthood to actual adulthood, a thought that terrifies me. This transition partly terrifies me because I know it is a transition I should have already made. I know some thirty year old's who are still nowhere near that metamorphosis, so I guess I must consider myself lucky. I do realize that tomorrow, I will probably be waking up as immature and ignorant to the ways of the real world as ever, but for now I will accept my fate and feel like the old soul that I am.

I am also in a weird state of mind about my personal life. I hate calling it my "personal life". I feel that it is most often (as the way I just used it) misused. What I actually mean is my lovelife. If you were to ask Jason, he would probably tell you things are rocky with us, but we are still dating. I say that we are just really close companions, less than dating but more than friends. I think I have burnt myself out on guys. All I want is friends. I decide after every breakup that I will never date again because I allow myself to get hurt so badly, but then I end up dating the next Tom's Hairy Dick that looks twice at me. Sometimes those only looking once. I really do not hate men. I just do not understand them. I mean, they confuse me. Well, people in general confuse me. I have absolutely no sex drive at the moment. So it isn't like I am out to fuck the world. I don't have a "fuck the world" attitude anymore either. I really don't know. I just decided, well accepted more than decided, awhile back that I am destined to be single and am supposed to only have friends not to be confused with only having friends in that pitiable, "poor poor me" tone. It is fine. I just need to make sure I cut the dating umbilical cord with Jason and clarify with a couple of people that I am not nor do I ever plan on dating them. I thought I made it clear when I said I am dating Jason, but apparently not. I think it will do me some good to be single for what will literally be the first time in almost six years. If my libido has some miraculous Lazarus moment, which I am thinking will not happen anytime in the near future, then I will take care of that myself. It wouldn't be the first time and certainly not the last. I just need a strong circle of friends right now I think. Not a larger circle mind you, just a strong one. Though, I think they are pretty strong as is. I guess I am just rambling. I'll go.

On a side note, Gregory Maguire is rapidly becoming one of my favorite modern authors. Just finished Mirror Mirror. Loved it as much as Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West. I'll start Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister tonight, I think. Okay that is all.

Later Consuela.

2005-06-03T02:34:00.000-05:00

OH COME ON!!

I've been listening to this song on repeat most of the evening at work. I'm feeling very, very "WHAT THE FUCK?!? NO, SERIOUSLY!?" tonight.

Beth Hart- "Guilty"

Uh huh! Hit me!

Yes, baby, I've been drankin'.
I know I should'n come by no more,
But I found myself in trouble, darlin'
And I have no place else to go.

I got some whiskey from a bottle.
Got some cocaine, cocaine from a friend.
And I had to keep on pushin', darlin'
Til I was back in your arms again.

And I am, I'm guilty. I am guilty, daddy.
And I'll be guilty for the rest of my life.
How, how come I never do what I am sposed to do now?
And when I try to do it, never turns out right?

Hey! Hey! Hey!

You know how it is with me mother fucker.
You know I just can't stand myself.
It takes a whole lot of medicine, darlin'
For me to pretend I am somebody else

So I found out Lucillity is no more. That is really weird to me as it was the first link I put on this damned thing. Weird and a little depressing. Well, it also makes me a little jealous. I find it depressing that it is depressing that some, from what I could tell, pretty great guy who used to date Nat would choose to stop blabbing about his life to a bunch of total strangers. I know all were not strangers to Corbin, but you know what I mean.

Is this really what I have been reduced to? Electronic connections to people with whom I do not share my life. Connections that are most often solely based on a few typed words a month. When I am lucky, a few typed words a week. Have I become one of those "internet people" who can no longer interact with living, breathing ones; so I turn to my computer, desperately hoping to keep some twinge of social normalcy? That is just sick. I think I am one of those people. Corbin has broken free from the surge protector and moved on to real interaction with the living. I am still sitting here, typing away, prating on about minor things in my life that in no way effect anyone but myself. I don't really even read (not with regularity) anyone else's blog. I just don't know. I guess anyone who has stumbled across this is probably thinking waaa waaa waaa, but I don't care. I give up. I want have wanted to quit writing in this thing. I had been planning on it, but there are those times, now few and far between, that I actually enjoy writing in it. Though after reading my journal from start to finish, I can see that I have only gotten progressively less chipper and more on the outskirts of suicide. No, I haven't the testicles to actually go thru with it unless I fling myself from the hospital's roof, but still. I really, and this is not me having a pity party (well not wholly), think I am supposed to commit suicide. I am convinced that the higher power has been wanting me to do it, but I am too chicken shit. That is why every time I fucking turn around, I am being punched in the stomach, slapped in the face, or shit upon. It is very distressing. I guess I just complain too much.

So earlier today, yesterday now, my landlady/sister-in-law's mother called to tell me that she wants me to move out of her house. So now I am homeless. Okay I am being a bit dramatic, go figure, but I am still being flung from my home. Father O'Flannigan (there's a blast from the blogger past, right) has been kind enough to take me in. I was going to possibly damage the house, but Father O'Flannigan has convinced me to take another route. Why do something that I could get into trouble for when I can do more damage legally? Oh well.

Oh and Jason and I are back together. He found out from this guy that I fucked a New York architect for six hours after the breakup. Jason had agreed to have an unprotected orgy with some guys, one being a friend of mine, but decided against it after realizing it had gotten back to me. He also went to Pensacoula for Fag Fuck Fest '05 so I am sure he met up with some random guy in his hotel room for a quick trick. Don't get me wrong, I'm not blaming him. We each know that the other had indiscretions during the breakup. Now we are trying to work past everything and move on with our lives together. I only mention it here because if I don't, I'll continue to dwell on the conjured images of what I imagine him to have done with countless men (he has not admitted anything to me). Maybe if I say it on here, I'll stop making up in my head different scenarios that he was in with countless faceless men in a two week period of time. I kind of linger on it constantly. I think that we are extremely different, and I had numerous reasons to breakup, but think I now know what the majority of our problems boil down to. That's all for now.

Later Consuela.

2005-05-29T21:59:00.000-05:00

2005-05-29T18:45:00.000-05:00

2005-05-29T18:34:00.000-05:00

2005-05-29T18:24:00.000-05:00

2005-05-28T12:42:00.000-05:00

2005-05-25T17:22:00.000-05:00

2005-05-25T17:18:00.000-05:00

I am Edward Scissorhands

2005-05-22T00:16:00.000-05:00

I didn't have much I really wanted to go into. It makes perfect sense to me. Watch the movie again if it has been awhile since you last saw it. If you have not seen it before, watch it for the first time. It is absolutely brilliant. I cannot watch it and not cry. But I have a different connection to it than do most.

On a completely different note. If you are going to be a retard holding up a sign of protest and hate, make sure the mother fucker doesn't have any grammatical errors.
AP Photo/ Karen Tam

Go on big girl wit yo big ole dumb, country ass!

Later Consuela.

2005-05-20T10:44:00.000-05:00

2005-05-20T10:43:00.000-05:00

2005-05-20T10:32:00.000-05:00

2005-05-17T21:13:00.000-05:00

Kim: Hold Me
Edward: I can't. (From Edward Scissorhands)

I have had alot to happen this past week that I was off. I went to New Orleans, a trip I had an excellent time on and will talk about later. I visited my family and went to a few USM graduations. I celebrated two birthdays. I started packing. I started a possible new relationship between two of my friends and brought my own relationship to an end.

I wanted to do an audioblog about this because I wanted to make sure I covered everything. I wanted to make sure that every single emotion I am feeling right now about every single thing that has occurred over the past week would not be dampened or nulled over time. I wanted to, but it always went back to me blubbering about the breakup. That is why I will write this, then do an audioblog at some other point about everything else. You can completely skip this one if you want. Granted, you could skip them all, but this one in particular you can skip for sure. It is meaningless to pretty much everyone besides myself. All of this is stuff that I need to say for my own sake. All of this is stuff that I am hoping Jason will, at some point, read and understand completely why we had to end it.

I told Jason that I wanted to break up. I did want to. Well, I did, and I didn't. I do, and I don't. It is like this. I love him, I really do. He is an awesome guy. We are two completely different people though. I told McMatt that Jason likes to balance his checkbook. McMatt shot back, "And you don't even have a checkbook." That, to me, summed up our relationship. We don't seem to have anything in common. He is straight lines and everything in its place. I am mannequins sticking out of the wall and a sink full of dishes. We are total opposites. I think we would have been better off as great friends than as a couple. I am hoping that someday he and I can be friends. I am scared that that, as is often the case, will not happen.

The thing that made me decide absolutely that it had to end happened during one of our more pleasant moments. Jason and I had been lying together in bed. We were talking and laughing and being pleasant. It was a really good moment. He looked at me and said laughing, "Wow, we're not arguing," or something to that effect. I kind of laughed, but then started thinking, shouldn't that be the exact opposite of how a relationship works. Shouldn't we think, "Wow, we're arguing." Shouldn't it be more shocking for two people who are dating to have a rocky moment than to have peaceful one? Shouldn't the good times outweigh the bad?

May 22, 2005: Since I started writing this I decided to just do the audioblog. So I'll post what I had and end it there.

Later Consuela.

2005-05-07T07:24:00.000-05:00

2005-05-05T04:43:00.000-05:00

A Rose by Any Other Name...Blah Blah Blah

Over the years I have been given quite a few nicknames. Some make perfect sense to me. Others grasp at it. What is the point I am trying to make? Well, what point am I ever trying to make? I guess, I just think it is funny that people rename their friends. It is more understandable renaming enemies. That is just juvenile belittlement. I am all about some childishness. Anyone who has read this thing with even the slightest degree of half-assed consistency should know that.

As a child, there were of course the "Poopie Head"s and "Bastard"s. There was also this fat, pompous jerk that we used to call "Saturn". He always squeezed into shirts that were sized 'small' when he was clearly an 'XL' guy. This caused a visible fat ring to form around him. I heard he got married. Good for him I guess. Then there was the kid with a skin condition similar to psoriasis who we called "Snake" or "Moccasin" or some other variation of a reptile theme. He was a nice guy and pretty smart from what I could tell. I swear they only stuck him in special ed because of his skin condition. I guess his parents thought he wouldn't have to deal with as many kids that way and would maybe not end up being the butt of cruel childish jokes if he were in special ed. I'm not really sure. I know it didn't help. I always felt really bad about the way we treated him and only stopped in high school. I wish I could apologize to him. Oh well. If you are out there and somehow stumbled onto this, I apologize. I was a stupid asshole kid who has answered to Karma tenfold for it, believe me. Then there was that kid we called "Turtle" due to the fact that he kind of looked like what a turtle would look like if it lost its shell. And in high school french there was that girl we called "Gnarl the Gnome" because she butchered the language and and bore an uncanny resemblance to a garden gnome. She was a sweet girl though. There have been a million different name variations. There was the "Valid Dick" for our graduating class. Then there was "Bedpost" and "Miss Magic Mouth", two names for the same girl who I used to treat like shit but am now very close to (no, neither was meant as a term of endearment). McMatt told me he called a boy, his fourth grade year I think, who was an ass and had a really short haircut "Sinead O'Connor". The only one at that time who appreciated it was his teacher who had to fight to keep from laughing. That is classic McMatt to me. Those are all different though. Those aren't really nicknames. That is just name-calling. I guess if they were used on a regular basis they could be considered nicknames. I don't know.

Now, I have matured...umm...yea. In the past couple of years, I have had Rotundra the Salami Queen, Malice, El Gappy Cojo, Horacio Vanderslice, Mongoloid Baby, Saltine, Japanese Smurf with Down Syndrome, Oompah Loompah, Walking Dead, Possob, Lucindafer, Hellen Keller, Beelzebitch, The Lovechild of *insert names*, Possom, Ishbu, and Mustardseed. My friend Cocoana, my hairdresser for the past seven years, is the king of insults and name-out-passing. He always has a name for any person in any situation. "Tittybritches" is one of my favorites. It has become the unofficial name of this guy that we know who always has his pants pulled up to his armpits. Many would simply call him Urkel or however it is spelled or some variation of it. Cocoana went with Tittybritches. I loved it. Then there was the guy who was going around telling people in Jackson some very personal health business of mine. He showed up at "the club" one night wearing an open front, laced up, frilly white shirt. Cocoana asked him if Long John Silver's had reopened. Then there was the little newbie queer who was being snotty to Cocoana simply because he was young and, in his opinion, cute. Upon being asked what he had done to deserve being treated like shit, the little one replied, "Ugh! Whatever. I am going to the bar to get a drink." Gently placing one hand on its shoulder, Cocoana explained "Sweety, they don't have Pedialyte here." I love that man.

Then there are the nicknames that I have for friends, acquaintances, and family. I have a ton on this blog that are either used in my real life or specifically for anonymity's sake like Father O'Flannigan, McMatt, Bookie Muffin, Cleptopatra, Bi Sagitarian, Tangent, Cotangent, Sweet Boy or Triple B, Hooker, Little Gay, Miss Ellouise (though technically that was not a nickname), Guapo (probably my third favorite nickname and one I often forget), Anna Nicole now known as Eeyore, Organ, Brazil, Elf, Rubix, and I am sure a few others. Then my friends from back in the day: Lil Cuban, Midnight, Moongoddess, Drucilla, Gay Momma, Aint B, Aint Deetruh, Centrum Leshay, Petaphene, Phene Phanessa Fifi, The Captain. And all-purpose names like Sister Sally Sister Pants, Sister Sally Sue Maybell, Buster Brown (my favorite), Fuckin McNugget, and Fucktard. Then there are the nicknames I have gotten over the years: Jason, Justin, Patrick, Cowboy, Bartholomew, Tomahawk, Bart, Crenion, Donnavon Davenport, Percy, Pretzel, Prestondigitonium, Ass Cumwad Asshole, Starkeeper. Last, but certainly not least, I call my mom either Woman, That Lady, That Woman Who Gave Birth to Me, or My First Apartment.

So again, what was the point of all of that? I just started thinking about how many different names I have for people, how often I rename people, and just thought it was a bit odd. I don't know why I do it, I just do. Not really sure if everyone is like that. Guess there was really no point. Just thought it was an odd habit. Oh well. I'm hungry.

Later Consuela.

2005-05-01T17:42:00.000-05:00

2005-05-01T17:19:00.000-05:00

2005-05-01T17:06:00.000-05:00

2005-05-01T16:31:00.000-05:00

2005-04-25T11:57:00.000-05:00

Miss Sophia's Home Now. Some Thangs Gone Be Changin' Round Here.
or
Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger

***WARNING***
1. This is, by far, one of the longest entries I have ever done (8 pages in 12 point font on MS Word). Be forewarned.
2. This entry will probably offend, piss off, annoy, or hurt the majority of my friends which will probably result in lost friendships, possible screaming, tearshed, possible bloodshed, and hurt feelings.
3. If you do not know me, shut up. Not trying to be rude, but your opinion means nothing to me on this subject. Actually, I will just turn off the comments.
4. If I lose readers over this, thanks for reading up to this point. Good luck in whatever you do in life.
5. To everyone else, try to remember that this was originally a journal first and something for possible public entertainment second. This entry is most definitely in the first category.
6. I have no apologies for anything I am about to say.
7. If you think that you could not possibly be offended or hurt by anything I have to say and you know me, it is definitely best that you do not read this because I can almost guarantee that you will fall into the group from #2.
8. This is completely self indulgent. Get over it.
9. Having said all that, read at your own risk. I'm not kidding at all. And don't say I didn't warn you.

CONTENT

Warning
Preface
Work Related
Now for the Stuff that Counts
Epilogue

Preface

If you are unfamiliar with one of the greatest movies of all time,The Color Purple, then the title of this entry may mean nothing to you. For the rest of you, it hopefully will bring back one of the most poignant moments in the movie. See, Miss Sophia was a black lady living in the south way back when. She had spunk and punched the mayor after telling his wife "Hell naw" upon being asked to be her maid. She was beaten, blinded in one eye, brokedown, and pretty much left to rot in jail. She made it out of jail after many, many years and sat in a catatonic state, rocking back and forth, never speaking. Miss Celie stood up to Mister (for God's sake watch the movie). This broke the spell that seemed to hang over Sophia. Her first words, the title.

This is being written after what has become one of the most emotionally, psychologically, physically, and financially overwhelming times I have faced in a long time, if ever. I wrote many moons ago about some really good advice that I swore I would start living by, “Be selfish.” I have, to an extent, done that. If you only started reading this now, go back and you’ll eventually find it, or you can just trust me on this one. My boyfriend, Jason, told me that I am so drained because instead of talking about things and getting them out in the open, I let them fester inside, turning them into stressful puss-filled boils (my wording of what he said.). That is true. I told Jason last night that I have become completely emotionally numb. I am now going to release a lot of that pressure, and, in doing so, hopefully reclaim my life.
((Back to Content))

Work Related

This is the email I sent to one of my bosses this morning.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: Preston Lastname
To: Susan Boss
Date: 4/25/2005 5:54:50 AM
Subject: I may end up regretting this but...

Susan,

I am having my lab work done here this morning and am going to try to make it by to see you. This is being sent because I knew if I waited, I'd either be too tired to wait around, would forget everything I wanted to say, or would calm down and just not worry with mentioning it. I realize I am not a supervisor, but these are my observations.

I am writing to let you know that there are some major problems with this work week. I do not know what the source of the problem is, but I do know who some of the major problems are. I was trying and trying to not become a snitch or a "tattle tail" or whatever you want to call it, but I am tired of our night shift techs always catching all the blame.

First of all, there is Jerry. Tommie said that he had already spoken to you about him, but as I did not see the email to know what he covered, I am going to mention everything that I can think of that I have been neglecting to say in the past. I am not sure if it is based on sex, race, weight, sexual orientation, religion, height, clothing, or what, but Jerry has it out for Tommie. He doesn't seem to like any of us, but Tommie is the one who always catches the majority of it. It seems like Jerry is constantly looking for and thinking up things about which he can complain (Tommie tucking in his undershirt, needing to leave on time for deliveries when Jerry himself tells him to wait causing his deliveries to leave late, saying Tommie is gone too long on deliveries when he is carrying a completely packed carrier, etc.) and over which he can write Tommie up. He goes through cycles of disliking Malice and me, but the fact that Tommie is breathing seems to annoy him to no end. Tommie works. There is nothing else to say about it. If he were just sitting around or not doing what he were supposed to, believe me, I would have already mentioned it. Call JP (old boss) at 555-1234 at Old Hospital of Employment(OHE)and ask what all I had to say about GW if you need verification. GW and I were pretty close as are Tommie and I. I would not say he is working just because we have become friends. Tommie does a legitimately good job. Whatever problem Jerry has with him is personal and can only be viewed as harassment. Simple as that. Why do I care? Because a co-worker on a shift that has become the pharmacy's whipping boy is being treated unfairly. It annoys me.

There are no complaints about the other rotation's techs because the other rotation has some of the more easy going pharmacists. Steve and Ifeoma are great to work with. Bob is not a bad guy to work with. It just takes a miracle to get him to answer the phone when a nurse needs a pharmacist, and the call is transferred to him. Angela is always on the edge. The other rotation has Joe, Mr. Allen, Mitch, and Lance. They are all pretty relaxed, easy to work with people.

I am not sure what you said to Malice, or even if anything was said to her for that matter, but she has completely turned around. She does what she is supposed to now. Perhaps it is the stigma that is still attached to her that makes her an easy target to complain about. I don't know if people are complaining to you about her, but I have heard techs complaining about her still. She is an easy target. I only give credit where credit is due, and she is working now. Thank you for whatever you said to her. With her, it is aggrivating to see techs go off blaming everything on her just because they know that you and David aren't here to see it, and she had earned a reputation for herself. I know that you aren't God and can't get people to lay off of her, but I wanted to mention that in case complaints are still making it to you.

I am not really sure what Mike does here. He is nice enough, but I am confused about what he does. I just see him up here kind of hanging out for a while, then he leaves. Whatever his job description, I guess he fills it. Tryanne seems to like him alot.

Barbara's job is to collect a paycheck. That is it. University pays her to take one or two deliveries in the evening, say the phrase, "Oh I would have gotten that," pull maybe four labels from 7pm-11:27pm on a good night, talk on the phone, read magazines, and watch 'Cheaters' every night at 10 or 10:30. I don't know how she managed to get that position, but I wish it had been open when I applied here. I, honestly, would have probably waited longer before mentioning Barbara rarely working since she is pretty pleasant to work with, but then this happened.

Tonight, I was in the IV room making two bags of Levophed, two bags of epinephrine, and a bag of phenylephrine. I called the front and asked her to please see if someone could grab some epi for me for a stat (Considering the drugs, I assumed it was a stat. We always said, "Levophed. Leave'em dead." It was one of the "last resort" drugs at CMMC. I assume it is here also.). She said for me to spell it, so I pretty much mumble spat out the spelling. She didn't understand me. Told me to slow down. That was totally my fault. I spelled it again. She started talking about the weather or the price of tea in China or something, so I said, "Could you please go and get it now. It is a stat. I have fifteen thousand bags back here to make for that patient." She said jokingly something to the effect of, "Stop acting like you're busy back there." I said, "The patient is probably dying up there. Forget it. I'll get it myself." She giggled and said, "Stop trying to make me feel guilty talking about a dying patient." I said, "Nevermind. Thank you. I'll get it." Then hung up and went to get the Levophed. She had been sitting in front of the computer doing nothing the whole time. I try to not call out front for them to get IV meds for me if I can help it. The only time I'll call out front asking is when there is a stat, and I am trying to not waste any time disrobing, going to the bulk room for the med, coming back and gowning back up, washing my hands again, then starting to mix the drug. It saves time and that helps save lives. I think so anyway. Maybe I am overly anal from working at both STD and OHE and having to respond with a pharmacist to codes at each. At OHE, I once had to help lift a seizing patient off the floor who was coding, bleeding everywhere, and was HIV positive. He almost died. After that, my job went from pulling pills and mixing IVs for nameless, faceless ID numbers to actually helping save lives. That was a very eye opening experience for me and is a huge part of the reason why I am excessively anal about alot of what I do in here. At any rate, I mentioned her actions, rather her lack thereof, to Jerry who just looked at me with a weird smile on his face, did his Jerry chuckle, and said he'd talk to her about it. I highly doubt he did.

Maryam and Miss Delores both work. There is nothing more I can really say about them.

Tryanne, I am convinced, dislikes midnight shift for whatever reason. The three or four days she is up here late for our rotation, she allows the evening shift to sit around and do nothing. She has said to us all, evening and midnight, a couple of times before that we are all expected to work while here and that work is not shift specific. I agree with that, but she, for the most part, allows evening shift to ride the clock from 7-1130p when she is here, while giving us "busy work" (checking for out of dates for the tenth time in a month) that Jerry has even said is kind of ridiculous. If midnight stops for more than two seconds, she goes to Jerry and says we are not working. Then they come up with the schedule of duties for midnight shift that seems to change on a biweekly basis. When I say "midnight shift," I am referring only to our rotation. Jerry has different rules for ours than he has for theirs. Well, he has rules for us (the tech sign in/sign out sheet, the duty list, the 3 minute phone call limit, the new "tuck in your shirt" policy, etc.) and none for the other rotation. I am not saying for these regulations or whatever to be thrown out, but they either need to be applied to everyone working the shift or applied to none.

As for me, I know I am late practically everyday. I did better this week and am putting in an honest effort to make it on time. I know I can't put in an effort. I just have to do it. Someone did attempt to break into my house twice this week (God only knows what I have that is worth so much that they'd have to try twice within a couple of days), so I have been about ten minutes late twice, I think, this week waiting on my roommate to get home to watch the house. Having said that, I can already hear the sighs of disbelief as I have apparently become the boy with bad karma who cried wolf. My roommate did do a police report, so I can try to get a copy of it if you need it. I do work. I know that I work. The pharmacists will tell you I work. It is like I told Tryanne when I was being interviewed, you are paying me to do a job so I will work my butt off. I also said that that does not mean I am going to do the work for everyone while they sit around and collect a check. If they are giving me their check, yes, I'll be more than happy to double my workload for them. I am not going to do it for free though.

I'm sorry this turned into a novel, and I was really not trying to come across rude or anything. There were (obviously) a few things I wanted to say. I can tell you right now that unless things change alot in here, you are going to lose alot of techs. That is in no way meant as a threat. It would be stupid to try threat tactics against my employer. I have just heard several techs mention going for interviews elsewhere and several who are looking for jobs elsewhere.

It is like you said to Tommie that night you worked a few rotations back, "This is really not a bad job." It's not. The job is great. There are just several kinks that need desperately to be worked out.

Again sorry for the length of this. If you want, you can call me at 555-5544. I will be at that number until at least 9:30a. After 10:30, you can reach me at 555-5555.

Thank you,

Preston
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Now for the Stuff that Counts

Now you see, I am a very understanding guy. I am good with listening to people's problems and offering advice, sometimes that of total strangers. I do not mind helping out someone if I can. I will bend over backwards to give you the shirt off my back. I am a big gift giver, because I feel that you can’t be upset when you get a present. I am also, eversoslightly, a bit of a card whore. I love giving people cards. I will do without if I know that someone else needs what I have more than I do. I like to make people laugh. I am just a little goofy and will make a complete fool of myself if it will, in some way, brighten your day. I still smile and say “hello” to every single person I pass in the hall at the hospital. I faux tap dance and Riverdance at work when we are all in a bad mood from a busy night. I still open and/or hold doors for ladies. I will pick up your pen for you if you drop it just so you don’t have to bend over to get it yourself. I will burst out into a song, usually one that I made up that consists of maybe one or two words if you look like you are down. I still give change to the homeless, even though I ran over one and another broke into my car and I talk about them all the time. I will stop on the interstate and turn around causing myself to be late for work if I see you stuck on the side of the road, provided you do not look too scary. I provide a shoulder to lean on. I will back you up in a heartbeat when you are right. I won’t allow anyone to speak badly about you if what is being said is untrue. I am a bit of a people pleaser.

Do I consider myself a saint? Read this thing and you’ll know I am and consider myself to be far from it. Do I consider myself to be perfect? Not even a little. Do I consider myself to be a pretty good guy? Yes, I absolutely do.

I don’t know if people view this as a weakness. I do not know if people want to see just how far I can be pushed. I don’t know if I am viewed as Mr. Cellophane. I don’t know if people think that, because I will go out of my way to help a total stranger, they can get away with anything when it comes to me. I don’t know if people think that because I am such a sarcastic, happy-go-lucky kind of guy that I don’t have any other emotions besides joy or goofiness. I honestly have no idea what it is that makes people think they have the right to take advantage of me. I have admitted that I will happily be, for pretty much anyone, an ear, shoulder, hand, backbone, hell, whatever part you need, you can borrow from me. I do, however, need these things in return at times too.

When I have had a bad night at work or a bad day in general, I need someone who will listen to me bitch about it for a minute without interrupting me to tell me about some random guy that they just met or to tell me about how work went for them. Or to say that the funniest thing just happened on some television show. Or to tell me that Billy is on drugs again. Or Sara broke up with Steven. Or about how drunk and stupid everyone was last night. Or to talk about a new shirt that was just bought. Or to talk about some funny thing that happened while being stoned or drunk or while being in any way inebriated. Or to bitch about anything at all that is going on in their life. I sometimes need to talk about things too. I sometimes want to get things off of my chest. I sometimes need for it to be about me for a minute. No, I do not care how my problems relate to your problems and how a similar situation occurred in your life once. I don’t consider that to be selfish. I guess it is to an extent, but frankly, I don’t care. In the words of Columbia in The Rocky Horror Picture Show, “You're like a sponge. You take, take, take, and drain others of their love and emotion. Yeah, well, I've had enough.” Or in the words of Gabriel in the movie Trick, “You have been monopolizing this entire conversation since we got here. Look, you’re my best friend, you know I love you, but right now, I don’t want to hear your audition monologue. I didn’t come here to have you sit down, invite yourself over, and, and, and talk about SHIT!” I need someone to sit there for me and listen. I need someone to act like they genuinely care about me, about how I am doing, about what my problems are. I need someone to realize that, sometimes, I, too, would like to get advice. I, too, need a hand to hold. An arm to lean on. A shoulder to cry on. I am not an automaton here strictly for amusement.

Again, I am not nor do I consider myself to be at all perfect. I am horrible with money. I am completely absentminded and lose things all the time. I ramble and mumble. I am always late for things. I am hypercritical of myself. I am, despite my often sunny disposition, a very pessimistic person. I leave things lying around instead of putting them back in their place. I am forgetful. I am extremely neurotic. I am a compulsive "little white" liar. I am a major procrastinator. I am probably bipolar. I don’t always follow through. I am obsessive compulsive about a lot of things. I am a chronic worrier. I am pretty judgmental. I do and have, from time to time, had thoughts of suicide. I go at least once a night to look at myself in the mirror because I feel fat and ugly. I am constantly poking my stomach and calling myself “lard ass”. I have many, many issues.

I, like any other human, need to talk sometimes and not have it turned into anything having to do with you. I need that. I need to be able to eat a meal without being made to feel fat. I need to not always be the one to come to the rescue, and if unable to come at beckon call, I don’t need to be made to feel guilty for it. I don’t need to always sit and listen to you drone on and on and on and on and on and on and on about pointless trivial bullshit that does not really matter at the end of the day and will be forgotten about in two. I don’t need to feel like I have to justify myself for not caring about some pointless never-ending story that you are telling. I don’t need your guilt trips. I don’t need to be the one who always, always has to drop everything for you and who is never returned the favor. I need to be appreciated.

If you have ever made me feel guilty for no reason, abused me (physically or emotionally), made me feel two inches tall because you were having a bad day or “just because”, were not there for me when you could have been and knew I needed someone, were quick to talk shit about me behind my back then turn around and eagerly accept my help with no apologies, took advantage of me in any way, took me for granted, viewed me as weak and/or mistook any act of kindness as naivety, made me feel trapped, spit on or slapped my face (literally or figuratively), made me have a lower self image than I already have, lied to my face because you are too chickenshit to tell me the truth, or have in any other way been less of a friend to me than you know I am to you, this entry is for you.

I can honestly say that out of all of my close friends and close acquaintances (I am excluding legally recognized family members), I have six who have gone above and beyond and have not once fallen into any of the above categories. To Rani (possibly referred to as Stormy somewhere on my blog), Ben (Father O’Flannigan), “Gay Momma” Chris and the Memphis family, Chad (possibly referred to as Captain), Tommie, and MC Matt I say, “Thank you!” You have all always gone above and beyond for me. Whether it was being my absolute rock in all of my hardest times and always having my back; being one of my best friends who knew how to laugh at life with me and could still be serious and actually listen when I needed it; kept my chin up no matter how many forklifts it took, always helped me forget the shit in my life, and tried to give me a more positive self image; were there for my phone calls when I felt like I had no one, no matter what time of night or day and no matter how long it had been since we last spoke; helped me grow a pair and remember that life is still funny and that ya can’t let nobody steal your joy; or were there to renew my faith in genuinely kind hearted people who are never too busy to drop everything they are doing to drive across town at three am to bring ya cigarettes and talk at work with you for a few minutes. THANK YOU!

To everyone else, you know where you fit into the list and which all apply. I don’t hate you. I am just to the point now where enough is enough. You cannot steal my joy anymore. I don’t mean that every moment with you is hell, but things have got to change. You all know I am a movie freak so I’ll end this with a movie quote from Magnolia, “You’ve got to start treating me better.”
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Epilogue

Due to the responses of a couple of people, I decided to add this just for clarification:

Question One: Which part is about me?
A: Nothing I said was individualized. Whichever you think apply to you, apply to you. If you feel none apply, then none apply. If you feel that you have done A, B, and C, but not D, and I think that you have only done A and C, then B also applies. I just did not notice it in you because A and C were the more dominant.

Question Two: What is the list of things all about?
A: Okay first of all, read the damned entry. Then, if you don't understand why I listed examples of how I feel I have been wronged, I will probably tell you you are an idiot to be honest. I wasn't saying these are the exact things and only these things are the reasons I am so pissed. It was also not a way for me to list each individual and pick him or her apart (these are still friends afterall), but it is more of a generalization of how I feel I have been treated by my friends as a whole. These are just some things that some of my friends need to recognize and improve upon when dealing with me, because frankly, enough is enough.

Question Three: Is any of that directed at me?
If you feel like, at some point or on a pretty regular basis, you have displayed any of those characteristics, you now know that you can either try to improve upon them or have the relationaship severed. I refuse to be taken advantage of any longer, and I do feel, no, I know that i have been in alot of ways by alot of people. I don't want to lose anyone over this and will work with you to try to make things right once more.

Question Four: So you are saying that because I am not listed on your "Top Six" list that I am a bad friend?
A: Those six are just the one's who have been there for me through everything without judgment or question. Those six I categorized there. Some of you fall into the other grouping. Some fall somewhere in the middle. For some this does not even apply. This is not brain surgery.

Question Five: Where did all of this come from?
I was once a happy person. An extremely happy person, in fact. Completely carefree, but I now feel that I have had so much of my life sucked out without having it returned that unless I make the necessary changes, I am going to die. Literally die. Either I will go through with a suicide, will not be paying attention while driving in a depressed daze (as I often do) and drive into a tree, or the strain will continue to exhaust me making my body work in quadruple time to keep up which will cause my immune system to throw in the towel altogether. So I REALLY don't want to, but if I am pushed to it, I will. You are not going to kill me.

Question Seven: If your friends treat you so poorly, why do you remain their friend?
A: Because I do not consider alot of people my friend or even an acquaintance really. I cherish the ones that I have. I love them. When I befriended each, they were not like this or I'd have already forgotten their names. But they have changed over the days, months, or years and know that how I am. I don't think it is always on purpose, but they are used to Preston the Pushover. I just can't do that anymore. I want to kep my friends, but I want them to remember that that is what we are and that I am not into s&m.

Question Eight: Are you meaning to come across as such a pompous ass?
A: Refer to #3, then if you still have that question, here is the answer. I am just fed up. If I come across as being a self righteous prick, sobeit.

Question Nine: I cannot believe you! Who do you think you are to blah, blah, blah, blah?
A: Refer to Question Eight.
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Okay now that is all I am going to say about that.

Later Consuela.

2005-04-22T07:29:00.000-05:00

2005-04-20T05:10:00.000-05:00

When Dealing with the Homegrown Faggot, One Can Never Go Wrong with a Panflute
OR
Faggot: The Other Dark Meat

Did everyone else know that queens are suckers for the panflute? I guess I missed the memo or something. I am listening to Sirius OutQ, the fag station on Sirius. They keep playing songs featuring panflutes. It is on a show that I believe is called Last Call or something. Maybe that is the new way of clearing out the queers from bars. Just turn on all the bar's lights. Then, while the dilated pupils of the geeked out, homely stragglers who couldn't find anyone with whom to go home and snort more crystal while taking a fist up the ass while another nameless Tina fiend demands lovingly, "Eat this man dick," are still being seared by the sudden flood of fluorescent light, start playing the panflute music. Talk about fucking with the heads of the tweaked. Anyway, I just had to mention that. Oh and aren't queers supposed to have good taste or something. I mean is that not the stereotype? If so, why the hell does the Sirius Fag not play some nonshit music?! I mean really! Haha...I wish they called their station The Sirius Fag. That'd be great. Fuck. I gotta switch it to something else. Station 8, Big 80's. OOOH YEA!! That's what the hell I am talkin' about. HUEY LEWIS & THE NEWS, HIP TO BE SQUARE!!! Yep. Getting Sirius next Friday. Mos Def!

So I think I fall into a weird category of queer. I feel like homos deserve the right to get married, but are not ready to get married (though I feel the same way about heteros...oooh Blondie, Call Me!). It pisses me off to hear people say that (Cyndi Lauper, All Through the Night) gays shouldn't be able to get married because God said that fags should all be killed and buried in a grave topped with salt. I mean, for one, what about seperation of state and religion? If you are going to choose which guidelines and rules and regulations you are gonna follow and which will be ignored, what is the point of even having them to begin with (John Cougar Mellencamp, Pink Houses)?! I mean seriously! Why not just have a mandatory religion for the nation? We could all be Muslim or Jewish or Catholic or those crazy Pentecostals who live in the mountains and dance with rattlesnakes. Seriously. I just get sick and tired of living by double standards. (Madonna, Starlight) This is not one nation under God. For one, if it is, that goes against religious freedom. Not really goes against, just shows extreme bias. For two, the Christian God is supposed to be a God of love. He loves all living things. (OH MY gracious me!!! TALKING HEADS, AND SHE WAS!!! I FRAPPIN' LOVE TALKING HEADS!!) I highly doubt He would be pleased to see a group of His people treated like shit or "less than"s. Preston, who do you think you are to say what God does and does not approve of, ya faggot? Well, who the hell are you to say what God does and does not approve of, ya bigot? See my whole thing is this. I know that queers, when they get the right to get married, will get all "nouveaux hitched" with it and have a huge divorce rate. Again, breeder marriage ends up in divorce like 50% of the time or more. Why not let the queens in on that drama action? In a nutshell, I think that homos are today what Condalesa Rice would have been in mid-1960's America. Women and black people were frowned upon and denied basic rights due to issues of ignorance about something as minute as gender or race. Today, we are frowned upon and denied basic rights due to issues of ignorance about something as minute as sexual orientation. It is kind of sad really.

I didn't mean to let that turn into, well, my soapbox derby. Sorry about that. I just get like that sometimes. My boss triggered it tonight. Anyway, That's all that I have for now.

Later Consuela.

A TON of Photos of My Art and Shit

2005-04-19T13:10:00.000-05:00

So I kept saying I'd eventually get around to posting pictures of my art. Well, here ya go. If you click this, it'll take you to the complete list of pictures instead of only seeing seven. Hope you like them.

Later Consuela.

2005-04-19T12:21:00.000-05:00

I took this last night when I was bored at work. I felt it was time for a new picture of myself. I look like I have a fat neck/underchin in it. Nobody asked you though. Damned monkeys!

2005-04-19T12:20:00.001-05:00

This was taken with my cell phone (as were most of the pictures aside from the couple that I had to use the webcam with). I forgot to maximize the size on my phone, so it turned out as a really good microscopic picture of the front porch.

2005-04-19T12:20:00.000-05:00

This is the mysterious floating golden body that stays in the corner of the house. We don't know why he watches over us (or how for that matter since he is headless), but we love him. Don't you love the little door beside him? That is either the breaker box or a portal to hell. Not really sure which. Probably the latter. That is what he is protecting us against.

2005-04-19T12:18:00.000-05:00

This is the doorway to the kitchen. The butterfly is a mini of a large painting that Nat is working on to go where my Queen of Hearts is now.

Cannister Thing

2005-04-19T12:01:00.000-05:00

I made this in high school art. I was never very good at making cannisters and shit. I used to use this as my toothbrush holder.

Gay Pari

2005-04-19T12:00:00.000-05:00

I did this in hs. It is Gay Pari. Alot of people say they like it, though it is one of my least favorites out of my things.

Faith

2005-04-19T11:52:00.000-05:00

Bad shot of the condemned priest from hs. It was called Faith or something.

Hand

2005-04-19T11:48:00.005-05:00

Again, from hs. Made a clay hand and bronzed it.

Heart

2005-04-19T11:48:00.004-05:00

In hs I was on a black kick I guess. I made the heart and black and multicolored metallic bronzed it. Not sure what I was thinking.

Pins and Needles

2005-04-19T11:48:00.003-05:00

This pot was also from my hs days. It turned out alot different than it was supposed to, but oh well.

Ephescent

2005-04-19T11:48:00.002-05:00

Ephescent started out as a cup. That was the hs assignment. Make a cup. Mine kept trying to collapse, so I flipped it over and turned it into an elephant. I glazed him once then changed my mind. When I glazed him black over the other glaze, I got this crackle effect that doesn't really show in the picture.

Love Bowl

2005-04-19T11:48:00.001-05:00

This is a crap bowl I attempted to make in hs on the wheel. I suck at the potter's wheel. After I made it, Moongoddess painted it up. It is our love bowl.

Untitled

2005-04-19T11:48:00.000-05:00

This is the head to a very provocative piece I did in hs. Originally, he had two legs, a neck, two really big feet and a cute little ass. My art teacher claims that his body exploded in the kiln, but I am certain that the ass caused her to destroy the body. She told me to lose the ass, but it didn't look right wthout it. I later made a clay bomb which destroyed almost everyting that was being fired with it.

The Face Tile

2005-04-19T11:46:00.000-05:00

I made this face tile in hs. I planned on making enough to cover a bathroom, but never got around to it.

Harvest

2005-04-19T11:45:00.000-05:00

I did this at Beta convention in hs for a competition. Had never used scratch board or whatever it is called before then or since. I won third in state though. I was very pleasantly surprised.

Hopper

2005-04-19T11:41:00.000-05:00

Hopper was my first wire sculpture. Did him in hs.

The Pyramid Thing

2005-04-19T11:34:00.000-05:00

Not sure what the point of this hs project was. I made a paperweight mini sculpturey thing. Don't ask.

Lil Man

2005-04-19T10:32:00.000-05:00

A wire sculpture I made a couple of years ago.

Untitled

2005-04-19T10:30:00.000-05:00

Another favorite from two years ago. Not much to say about it.

Mississippi Queen

2005-04-19T10:29:00.000-05:00

This is the breakup painting I did after Eeyore and I broke up. You don't have to say a word. I know.

Drained

2005-04-19T10:28:00.000-05:00

Yet another breakup painting. This was after Jeremy about three or four years ago. Again, shut up.

Unnaturally Happy

2005-04-19T10:27:00.000-05:00

Unnaturally Happy was done a few years ago. It was the first thing I painted after moving out of my parents house.

Sobriety

2005-04-19T10:26:00.001-05:00

Admittedly one of my ugliest paintings, it is one of my favorites. I did this a few years back after running out of cigarettes and being unable to afford them while eating "Preston's I'm Too Young To Die Caserole". It had ketchup, snapbeans or stringbeans, crackers, cream of mushroom soup, and maybe tuna in it. That was all I had left in the house and I was broke. A real starving artist I was.

Dance

2005-04-19T10:26:00.000-05:00

This is another favorite of mine. I did this a few years ago while watching the scarification in the movie The Color Purple.

Birth

2005-04-19T10:09:00.000-05:00

I did this painting about three years ago. I call it Birth. It is number one in a series of eight that, like most things I start, I never finished. It is probably my favorite painting. I sold number eight, Death, at Mississippi Hearts Against AIDS this year. Originally, I was going to donate a collage entitled PETA Melt, but I never did it. The deadline came, and I had to give them somehting. I think that it is a good thing that Death ended up with an unplanned name change. PETA Melt, which was already listed in the auction booklet thingy, is a better name than Death for an AIDS fundraiser. Well, I think so anyway.

If You Lactate, They Will Come

IT'S ALIIIIIIIVE!!!!!

I am Edward Scissorhands

Miss Sophia's Home Now. Some Thangs Gone Be Changin' Round Here.orHarder, Better, Faster, Stronger

A TON of Photos of My Art and Shit

Cannister Thing

Gay Pari

Faith

Hand

Heart

Pins and Needles

Ephescent

Love Bowl

Untitled

The Face Tile

Harvest

Hopper

The Pyramid Thing

Lil Man

Untitled

Mississippi Queen

Drained

Unnaturally Happy

Sobriety

Dance

Birth

Miss Sophia's Home Now. Some Thangs Gone Be Changin' Round Here.
or
Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger