birthdays!!

this is the weekend of birthdays like none other:

Trigger is 22 today! holy crap that's old

me and my baby

and baby is 1 year old tomorrow

baby Autumn

Autumn and her mom

and for the hell of it mom again, my sis Amanda

I need a better picture of trigger. but happy birthday everyone, I love you guys

people that hate their cats

For people that have cats but really don't like them, a new and interesting art form:

cat painting! i kid you not, bring boring old fluffy to an artist and in no time it'll have an exciting and adorable look.

Belly dancer and kitty

Not for the clown-phobic owner

Cat as matching accessory


Another kilt kitty

Trying to be fiercer than a house-pet

My favorite: LEMUR KITTY!!!

This is an actual practice, the paint fades in a few weeks and it has to be re-done. if you can get your hair dyed, i guess you can get furball dyed to match now.

frost fire badge

for those of you boyscouts, you know what that means. any camping where the temperature drops below freezing is cause for a frost fire merit badge. camping this weekend was very interesting... i have mild frostbite and moderate sunburn. what a combination!
i didn't actually get to fight, seeing as i live in constant fear of messing up my back piece, and i don't want to rip any scabs off, but there were still fun times and things that i'm sure i'll look back on and laugh later.
we left thursday for hidden springs park, and set up our tent in the dark and cold, amidst many other tents. there was a main fire in the center of a circular road, lined with seperate camp sites for each area that attended. enter a great night of tent sex, and the next day we went to the fighting field. i got to sit on the sidelines and watch, because as already mentioned, i'm a puss.
that night, we drank. there were many funny stories told by the camp fire and at least one person melted their boots. but that was where the good times ended. a friend of mine drank to the point of concern for his health, and proceeded to collapse drunk on my legs and pass out, while i was standing. another friend of ours kept a vigil from 10pm until 5am, not sleeping and having to accept any challenges presented (this is a trial that some can choose to go through to achieve a high status in the sport. he has kept his vow of not drinking, also required, for over a year). one visitor challenged him to a battle of wits. this person was drunk, so it didn't last long.
elsewhere in the campground, a kid from our area locked himself in a port-o-john. he broke the base that the seat was on doing whatever the hell it was he did, and then, being unable to figure out how to slide the handle back to open the door, convinced himself someone had locked him in and kicked the door open, breaking both the occupancy sign and the lock. fucker... he later passed out in a ditch and when good sumaritan passersby couldn't get him up to go to his tent, they brought his tent to him and manhandled him into it.
back at our friend's vigil, at about 1 or 2, i went back to my tent to try and sleep. it began to rain. poor thing had to sit out for hours in the pourning rain with only a passed-out drunk for company. and he couldn't drink. the next day, when fighting of everyone from our area in a row and then the ceremony to present him with his title were supposed to occur, everyone went home instead. so he still can't drink.
we spent saturday freezing, giving up and going into the nearest town to walmart to gather cold-weather gear and to thaw, and then all 6 of us huddled in the same tent that night. sunday we packed up and went home. a total of two nights had below-freezing temperatures, and one day was cold and muddy as hell.
looking back, it isn't funny to me yet.

go big or go home

good news everyone!
this weekend i am going camping at hidden springs park, a forest preserve with space for tents and no showers, with the fighting group i am in. we get together, dress up in reniassance clothing, and beat the hell out of each other with pvc pipe or kitespar, wrapped in foam. the national organization we're under is called belegarth.
the main idea is that 500-600 of us get together and set up tents, then fight. when the sun sets and it gets to freakin' cold to fight (cold foam hurts like a bitch), we dress up and eat a formal feast and then get tanked. there is a big fire in the main area and there is usually fire performances and belly dancing. also epic fights and people being zip-tied in their tents.
the next day, we stumble out of our tents (or cut our way out, if we've been tied) into the cold air, choke down coffee, and go back to the field to fight with a hang-over. we have an identical day, and then the next morning we pack our shit and go home.

i can't wait! we leave thursday night or friday morning.

cold

i have found that april being "sexual assault awareness month" is a constant source of aggravation for me, as i am very well aware that i was sexually assaulted and i do not wish to be reminded of it every time i see a poster or flyer or table tent in the food centers.
today is the one year anniversary of a terrible event in my life, and i'm really sick of seeing the lines
"if you have been the victim of a sexual assault, call our hotline" - i don't want to call a damn hotline
"talk to a professional" - gee, tell my story to a stranger, how the hell does one start that conversation?
"let us help you heal" - maybe i'm okay with being damaged, maybe i'm afraid that if i start to talk, i'll have to deal with it and i can't do that. maybe i'm afraid to try to breach the walls that hold all of this pain and self-loathing in, because they keep me strong and keep me going.
i think i may have an illness of the soul, i have been unable to get warm for the past few days. even curled up on the couch, covered in blankets, with a friend who is a verifiable space heater, skin sweating, i feel cold.
i'm so sick of this affecting my life, and i don't know how to fix it. i don't want to open these old wounds and try to heal them better, i don't want to think about the things that were done to me. i just want to forget that it happened and hope that i can find the pieces of myself that i lost in carol stream. if i can deal for a year, i'd like to think i can be okay.
why does that sound so hollow, even to me?

i have dated men and women, young and old, smart and stupid, beautiful and not-so-pretty. and now i'm dating a 21 year old guy who is damn smart in all the ways to balance me, with a very nice face and the most amazing brown eyes.
but more than the eyes or the incredible prowess in bed, are the things that he says, out of the freakin' blue.
sitting in the car, driving me back to my room so that he can drive the two hours home to get to work in the morning, we were talking about shoes. i am 5'10'' normally, 5'11'' on a good day. he is about the same height, having maybe half an inch on me tops. this can be problematic because i own many pairs of heels. this is not to say that i wear them often - given the option i am barefoot and happy - but i do own them for the occaisonal time when i need to impress.
so i asked the question that we all know the answer to - "do you think i look better in heels or flatfoot?". the question came up because neither of us likes me being much taller than him, but we've all been told from day one that in heels we get "ass out tits up" and it looks damn good.
he said he prefered my posture flatfoot. - well obviously, if i'm taller than him.
not standing next to me, but looking from a distance, still prefers flatfoot. - what?
he said it was more like me, and more comfortable. but beyond that, he told me that i am more attractive to him as i am, not as heels could make me.
i love him so much. never before have i been told that i am better as i am, not as i could be made. most agree i'm pretty well put together and i clean up nice, but never that i was better the way i came.
i don't know what to do with myself!
is this a normal sentiment in other people's lives?
girls - have you ever been told this?
guys - have you ever said it? was it true?

finally finally finally done

after much pain and whining and A&D and hand holding, it is finally done.
and i have pictures:

the left shoulder

the right shoulder

the center


the left bottom

the right bottom

and once again, the thing we've all been waiting for, the piece that will grace the wall of a tattoo studio forever,

the whole freakin' tattoo!!!

tattoo progress

please don't kill me, i know it's been a damn long time since me saying the tat was almost done. when i went on friday to finish it, there was a rush in the shop from the time i got there until an hour and a half after they closed and i do not want a tired tattoo artist anywhere near me.
but, for all the waiting and lamaze breathing, IT IS DONE!!!!
i can't post the pics until probably tomorrow, but for the love of god, it is finished. and it is lovely.

tangent - i went to the gas station today to get a carton fo smokes as tip for my artist, and spent a while talking to the nice smoke-tanned and skinnied woman behind the counter. i showed her mine and she showed me hers, and we started talking about the shops in town. there are two main tattoo shops in bloomington/normal (by main i mean they don't have to advertize on TV for clients), and alas, my shop is moving. only a few hours south, but that means that the only shop in town now (or very soon) is run by a short creepy guy with too many neck tattoos and an unhealthy interest in body modifcation and scarification.
as i came to that realozation i thought to myself "that's just scary".

smoking

after having smoked for almost four years of my young life, i have realized that the time has come to quit.
well, the time has almost come. i still need to smoke during the tattooing process or else i panic and the artist can't work because i'm moving too much. we found this out the hard way (i picked a really bad time to quit)
but tattoos aside, come the end of today (we finish the last of the color tonight, but i won't have pictures until later, so you don't get to see it until it's DONE) i will stop smoking. this sucks. my fiance isn't ready to quit just yet, so he will get to smoke while i want to scream at him because i can't, but i think it'll be okay. at least we won't kill each other like we might if we quit at the same time.
wish me luck, for some odd reason i think i might need it.

empty words for empty hearts

i sat listening yesterday to a friend i really didn't know that well, spill out for me all of his anguish over losing a boyfriend of a year plus. i watched him tell me about the pain of rejection after he gave everything he had, and not being enough, as the tears built up in his eyes. but he refused to cry over it agian.
i listened to his heartache and thought, i've been there. but i said nothing. i nodded and gave my most sympathetic face, but at the time when he needed something most, because i remember needing something from the person i refused to cry in front of, i had nothing to say, nothing to give him.
what do you say to someone whose pain is so raw? how do you tell them everything you wish would make them feel better? when listening just isn't enough, i find mysef completely out of my depth, and remembered that i found no comfort in the empty words my friends had given me.
what do you do in that situation? what can you possibly say that has meaning?

next time i want to be prepared so:
suggestions, anyone? what was the best advice you ever got from a loved one or a wise one in a terrible situation?

the shading

allright folks, here's what i've got so far:

the left shoulder:

the right shoulder:

the center:

the bottom left:

and the bottom right:

Which, placed together int he correct positions give us a lovely overview of

the whole damn thing

it wasn't bad at all, and i love the way it looks

you gotta love progress

after many days of healing at home and forgeting how much this shit hurts, i came back to school and back to the shop to keep on working. i have come to both fear and love the sound of a tattoo gun, and the man who i am paying to do this to me.
but after two days and a total of six and a half hours, the shading is finished.
i don't have pictures yet, but i will soon and then you can see how lovely it really is.
six days and then we start the color, and then it's bloody done.

i look like a burn victim with all the gauze on my back right now.

The Outline

Ladies and gentlemen, the outline is done!

I go home for spring break and then when i come back healed, we start the shading and coloring.

tattoo pictures!

this actually isn't all right now, i got four more on the bottom, but i don't have a pic yet.

it itches! oh god it all itches so bad!!!

Here's a new one:

back with the center piece done

I finally got some pictures of my tattoos up:

My back tattoo so far - just the top outline

Hand without blacklight




Hand with blacklight

hand tattoos suck

i don't have a picture yet, but i should soon.

last night i got a black light tattoo on my hand in the shape of an outline of a rose. black light tattoos only fluoresce in black light, so no one will be able to see it in regular light, hence tattoo on the hand being okay.
fun fact: the first black light tattoo ink came out of california and caused cancer.
the ink used on me is the same kind that my tattoo artist used on both of his hands, does not come from california, and so should not (hopefully) make my hand rot and fall off.

black light tattoos can be done three ways:
1) the artist sets up a black light over the tattoo area and uses that to see the ink. this can be difficult because then the tattoo gun glows and so do the paper towels and the excess ink, and the stencil can be almost impossible to see and so it is distracting and can make things harder, plus it's bad for the eyes.
2) the artist puts the stencil on the skin and then goes over it like he/she would with any other tattoo, hoping that the ink is going in along the lines. (this is not as scary as it sounds considering that the excess ink welling up out of the skin makes it impossible for the artist to see any tattoo they are doing exactly - it's mostly guess work)
3) the artist does a "blood line" first, which is basically doing the tattoo once with something harmless in the gun, like the greensoap they use to clean the tattoo. this makes a wound track which is much easier to see and follow than just the stencil, and cannot wear off like a stencil can.
guess which one we did?
the blood line hurts like hell, and then when it was done we had to do it all over again.

but now i have a lovely rose shaped wound on my hand that glows in black light.
Yay!

tattoos...

so one night i got the bright idea that i wanted a back piece ... a tattoo that covers my entire back. it will be huge. and bright. and really freakin' painful.
i contacted my tattoo artist and for a little bit more than my what my first car will cost, i can have almost my entire back covered in roses and leaves and vines in the most lovely design that i have ever seen, and it will even match the rose on my shoulder.

so the problem is that i can't reach all of my back to get ointment on the wounds... or wash them... or really care for them at all on my own. thank god for friends.
imagine the awkward conversation of "hey friend, if i throw on a pair of trunks and put a towel over my chest, will you help me scrub my back?" cause that's not wierd.

but non the less, next tuesday the games shall begin, and i will either be so loaded up on pain killers that i can't see, or the biggest bitch in the world that can't sit back in a chair or sleep on her back.
god i love tattoos.

and when i figure out how to work a camera, there will be pictures of the finished piece on this site, so anticipate greatness!

i'm so terrified i'm hyper.

there was a man who was an alcoholic. he had two sons and he spent his life drinking himself away, and embarasing his family.

one son grew up to be an alcoholic, drinking away his money and shaming his family. his wife left him and his children hated him.

the other son grew up to be a doctor with a steady career, a devoted wife and a loving family.

when the first son was asked "why are you like this? what made you this way?", he said "my dad was an alcoholic, what else could i do?"

when the other son was asked "why are you like this? what make you who you are?" he said
"my father was an alcoholic, what else could i do?"

bullet to the brain pan ... squish

*name the movie (see title) and get a cookie*

cuddle your hurt like a baby
hold it to your breast
and let it suckle at the teat
of childish emotions
and spiteful thoughts.
nurture your pain as if
to drain yourself,
and let it consume you.
hug it close,
let it harden and shrink
into that tiny rock
of ever-sustaining,
so very brightly
burning anger

and immolate yourself.

freakin' awesome!!!

Albert Einstein
You cannot simultaneously prevent and prepare for war.

Bill Maher:
Suicide is man's way of telling God, "You can't fire me - I quit."

John F. Kennedy
Mankind must put an end to war before war puts an end to mankind.

M. C. Escher:
I don't use drugs, my dreams are frightening enough.

Plato
Only the dead have seen the end of the war.

dear amy... signed, ostracized in Normal

needing advice, i'm not sure where to go down here. back home i have a few friends that i know i can trust and ask for advice.
i have a few people who are mine down here, but no one that i feel i can go to and that just sucks.

i spend almost every night at a friend's apartment. it is the general hang out for members of our "beat the hell out of each other in mideval clothing" group, also called wolfpack. the guy who i go to see pays rent but isn't on the lease. there are two people who are on the lease, and i get along with one of them really well, he is a sweetheart and we are comfortable with each other. the other guy seems to have a knack for being blunt and cruel. i will make a joke that doesn't involve him and he will respond like i was serious. and i swear if i have to hear the "my house, my rules" speech one more time, i'll scream.
i love going to this apartment, it's where i hang out with friends down here, but i just can't connect with this guy and i don't know if he dislkes me or if that's just how he is, but regardless, i'm worried that i won't be able to just ignore it and i'll snap on him, which i don't want to do. but i'm sick of putting up with him.

why do i feel like i'm writing to "ask amy"?