Mummy Bitch

From start...

annnnnddd.....

Finished

Gouache on cold press

18x24"
Probably my best piece to date. I'm a proud mama

Foul tip

Life throws us curve balls...be it family strife, struggling for college funds or broken hearts. I'm stretching towards the end of my nomadic life; a home plate if you will; a game plan for life and hopefully one day, my heart.

The metal steed that is my symbol of freedom, will be going on the market next week; gasp! I know. But I need the cash as a cushion to find a job with a roof over my head. Not to mention, I hate driving in the city. And mostly, well, I'm just plan tired of not having a home. Sure I have a place to rest my weary bones now but it's not MY home. So Cal and Seattle couldn't hold me, so now what? The plan is still the Bay...

Soon, so very very soon...I can almost feel the canvas of my home plate

Dan Auerbach's 'Goin' Home' came on tonight. The second verse seems fitting for a recent trip to the Pac NW. It's a beautifully delicate song and it made me tear a bit:

"I’ve spent too long away from home
Did all the things I could have done
Gone are the days of endless thrills
I know I’m not the only one

So long, I’m goin’, goin’ home…

I saw the streets all ripe with jewels
Balconies and the laundry lines
They tried to make me welcome there
But their streets did not feel like mine

So long, I’m goin’, goin’ home…

I want the sun to hit my face
Through oak trees in the open lot
Forget about the things you want
Be thankful for what all you got

So long, I’m goin’, goin’ home…"


(I'm trying to be thankful for what I got and weather the storm of the things I cannot control)

They've built boats for these floods

Sometimes nothing is more fabulous than laying in bed with your window open on a rainy night. Magic is the ease at which the rain serenades you to sleep and the clarity of the crisp air in your lungs after it's been cleansed by the water. If you get cold, gather the warmth of your lover's embrace; if they're out of town, add a blanket and snuggle up in a ball under it's cocoon.

Thanks Seattle for providing me lots of rainy days thus far on my visit. Sincerely

Single Awareness Day

Yes...that special day when lovers want forced affection and gifts as a token of proof for your love for them. It was never really my forte...personally, I feel people shouldn't need a specific day to treat someone special, it should be a daily ritual; if even a simple spoken gesture like "I love you", "Thinking about you" or "I miss you". Corny, indeed, but in my personal preference, it's the thought that truly counts. Even if that thought is simply a verbal one.

So that mental vomit out of the way...I spent my February 14th with some good friends in Seattle for a potluck. For the sheer sake of not wanting to be around the hopeless saps and the unfortunately forced. Dinner menu was as following:
5bottles of wine
Salmon
some fantastic cheeses and bakery bread
spinach dip
clams
pasta
green beans, baby broccoli and brussel sprouts




(a little more classy than 2girls1cup)

Love and EZ cheese

The adventure begins with road munchies, of which I was not permitted my standard beef jerky, for fear of a raise in methane levels in our hotel room; some heinous hours of traffic; downpours; and vampire grilles yo'

Car games which consisted of putting the word "anal" in front of vehicle types and turning road signs into sexual context.
Top Five car names:
Anal Ram
Anal Escape
Anal Avenger
Anal Probe
Anal Outback

Top Two sexual name slang:
Yelm: when the jizz that gets shot onto the girls stomach collects into the belly button and crusts over
Steilcoom: when you've finished the blow job and sneeze with his wad in your mouth, thus causing it to shoot out your nose.

A very quick run down of events:
Marathon. Mary's(every morning should begin with licking your own heel...from behind your head..one flexy bitch with a great ass). A very dead Tube. Magic Gardens(where one stripper may or may not have wanted Amber or myself to raise her unborn baby. I'm voting for me, she winked, yep, she wants me). The Fez 80's dancing and an Anna body slam to a poor unsuspecting victim. Late late night-er morning munchie attack to the Garlic Triscuts and remaining EZ Cheese...followed up by "holy shit, this room reeks of alcohol". Douglas Fir. Powell Books(drool). Thrift shopping. Gluttony at Life of Riley. And a mad dash drive home with bleary eyes, Murder City Devils and a woman(Amber) speaking Texan in the backseat. Yep, that's about it.

There was a lot of booze involved in all of the above. Ace Hotel is tits with a photo booth in the lobby and an adjoining Stumptown Rosters. Portland is rad and I had forgotten just how much it tickles my fancy.

some key verbal highlights offered by Amber and Anna:
"my vagina is loaded 99% of the time. and I'm sure it has a drinking problem." (amber)
"my vagina is a preserved wild life reserve" (anna)
"don't worry about the dead baby in the wheel well, he's been dead for awhile and can't feel much anymore" (amber)

(Gluttony)

Cheers!

Looker

Yep...missing this

Oh the weary traveler

I'm sitting here on a Friday night typing instead of going out. Shit, wait, its Wednesday?! See what happens when you quit your 8-5 gig in hopes of bettering yourself in college? Fucking aye.

I'm going somewhere with this entry…really.

(you could just reach out and touch it)

I use to hate flying-shit, I STILL hate it. But with the amount of travel my life has seen and taken on over the last year, I've become quite the professional nomadic weary traveler. On the off occasion I choose to leave the metal steed at home and take a metal death trap bird instead. I've got a system to deal with my flying phobia(well not the flying part but the falling out of the sky into a fiery blaze of molten steel towards an earth shattering crash…), Vicodin and a beer before flying puts me to sleep and eases the white knuckle grabbing on the arm rest from the tiniest bit of turbulence. I have also become amazingly proficient with packing luggage. For example, my current trip to Seattle. I will be here for 10 days but instead of checking a large bag that comfortably fits many a clothing option to satisfy my fashion slut needs…I choose option small; as in 'carry on'. The trick, I've learned, is to wear the bulkiest items onto the plane. In my case, my big motor boots, sweater, thick socks, scarf and pea coat. Please see exhibit A:

1 pair heels
1 pair vans
4 pair jeans
6 t-shirts
2 vests
2 purses
1 flat iron
1 PJ
14 pair undies(always need clean undies. what happens if you get in an accident?)
9 pair socks
3 sweaters
1 Skirt
4 dress shirts
2 ties
1 hat 1 beanie 1 belt
2 tanks
cosmetics bag


I am highly impressed with myself, hence this post; its all to feed my ego for my packing victory.

Sandstorm Slut

My loving man Sam plays in a fantastically talented band, of which I do not fully know the name, as the little punk eluded to maybe The Sons but who knows(probably thinks "Well if I tell you, there would be no mystique left about me and what fun would that be? Now be a good woman and fetch me a whiskey and PBR"). UPDATE: Sleepy Suns. Check them out, amazing

I'm super excited about what they're doing and I know I'm not the only one. So I'm going to write about one of their songs in particular: Sandstorm Woman. This is an intensely sexy song that has a feel of classic rock with a mixture of moody strong guitars and a dash of some blues upbringing. From the early unraveling of the song with the devilish woman's laugh taunting you, you know you're in for a ride. I can't help but think of Zeppelin's "Since I've been loving you" which also exudes raw bluesy emotion and strong guitars; basically, shit you can get naked and dirty to.

Permit me a rant to get my point of sexuality across...

Men, imagine an incredibly sexy woman of your desires giving you a private dance...intimate. She'd be dancing to this song; slowly slinking towards you, guided by the slow drum beats. She drops to her knees in front of you, only to climb up your legs, using her body against yours; conducting electricity through the tension. She keeps eye contact all the while she ascends. You can feel her heat as see makes your dream a reality...

Back to the song...

Most of the song has a slow gyrating rhythm, begging you to move your hips hypnotically, swaying from side to side, eyes closed as singers Rachel and Bret croon and wail pure sex into your Temporal Cortex...at the 5:30 mark of the song, the tempo picks up into a faster kick you out of you daze, rock. He screams and you can envision her bent over howling into the microphone while gripping it by the throat. By that point of the song, if you're not completely out of your mind aroused, you're either 80, out of Viagra or dead. At the 7:11 mark, the drums become primal and then the song just escalates further into an all out fuck you jam session.

Whatever fantasy this song aids you for tickle time; be it a feverish make-out session or sex, it has an undeniable raw feeling of existence and the invisible push to make you move

Please check out their live performance video here:

http://cliquebang.blogspot.com/2010/01/sandstorm-slut-sam-says.html

They have posted a lot of live performances on their blog; it's the top link from my page, Cliquebang. Definitely go and check them out, spread the word.