Back in 6 Weeks

Give or take. 

I promise, this blog isn't totally defunct. 

I just have to finish school. I don't have time for ANYTHING it seems like. 

Bear with me - I'll be back. 

Image from Google. That's all I've got. Sorry.

A post about some great books I read recently

I just finished a few really great books. In light of that, I am going to throw them out into the universe in hopes that somebody, somewhere has either read them, or will read them based on that.

Book #1 was Starless by Jacqueline Carey.

I think this is now just my most favorite book in the history of books. I. FUCKING. LOVED. EVERY. WORD. I loved the high fantasy. I loved the gods and goddesses directly interacting with the denizens of the world. I loved the gender fluid protagonist Khai, and the differently abled princess Zariyah. I loved the inclusion of the many different cultures in the world that Carey so beautifully fleshed out (which is something that honestly, I always feel she excels at). I loved the struggles, the relationships, the adventure, blah, blah, blah. If you're tired of white guys rescuing white girls and then living happily ever after against the backdrop of high fantasy, give this gem a go. I guarantee you won't be disappointed.

5 out of 5 Items of Rating (I don't know what this is about, but it hit me in a moment of inspo, so I'm going with it)

The second book was Witches, Sluts, Feminists by Kristen J. Sollee.

This one is just start to finish wonderful. The whole thing is infinitely quotable, so I won't ruin it for you. Just read it!

4.8 our of 5 Items of Rating. Reck. Ah. Mend.

The third book was Shrill by Lindy West. 

This book was ah-may-zing. I laughed so hard at some points that I may have cried a little. For example, when she gave examples of the "fat female role models" available in her youth. Every single example she gave was brilliant, and they all, in my opinion went a long way toward validating her claim that there was and continues to be little to no non-jokey representation of fat folks in media (and on a peripherally related note, can we all just agree already that the size of a person is a) nunya fucking business, and b) in no way representative of their status as a human being!). Which is nonsense, because there are many, many large-bodied individuals 'round here. Mostly this is a memoir about West's life up until now, and deals primarily with how she came to love and embrace her fat, opinionated self in spite of the pearl-grasping horror of many at the sheer concept that a large woman could feel anything but shame and self-loathing. Oh, and it was also about troll-slayage (the internet kind - no Treasure, bridge, or kindly trolls were harmed).

West provided a wealth of witty hilarity such as:

"When you’re a little kid, everyone talks about your period like it’s going to be a party bus to WOOOOOOOOOO! Mountain. It’s all romantic metaphors about “blossoming gardens” and “unfurling crotch orchids,” and kids buy into it because they don’t know what a euphemism is because they’re eleven. But it’s also a profoundly secret thing—a confidence for closed-door meetings between women."

"I don’t give a shit what causes anyone’s fatness. It’s irrelevant and it’s none of my business. I am not making excuses, because I have nothing to excuse. I reject the notion that thinness is the goal, that thin = better—that I am an unfinished thing and that my life can really start when I lose weight. That then I will be a real person and have finally succeeded as a woman. I am not going to waste another second of my life thinking about this. I don’t want to have another fucking conversation with another fucking woman about what she’s eating or not eating or regrets eating or pretends to not regret eating to mask the regret. OOPS I JUST YAWNED TO DEATH. "

but she also presents wise, wonderful gems like these:

"This is the only advice I can offer. Each time something like this happens, take a breath and ask yourself, honestly: Am I dead? Did I die? Is the world different? Has my soul splintered into a thousand shards and scattered to the winds? I think you’ll find, in nearly every case, that you are fine. Life rolls on. No one cares. Very few things—apart from death and crime—have real, irreversible stakes, and when something with real stakes happens, humiliation is the least of your worries."

"The breadth of my shoulders makes me feel safe. I am unassailable. I intimidate. I am a polar icebreaker. I walk and climb and lift things, I can open your jar, I can absorb blows—literal and metaphorical—meant for other women, smaller women, breakable women, women who need me. My bones feel like iron—heavy, but strong. I used to say that being fat in our culture was like drowning (in hate, in blame, in your own tissue), but lately I think it’s more like burning. After three decades in the fire, my iron bones are steel."

or

"Shame is a tool of oppression, not change."

4.5 out of 5 Items of Rating - do recommend

The last book was Gross Anatomy by Mara Altman.

This book is fun, funny, and kinda gross. Everything you could ever want to know about all the weird shit your body does/has/is. Altman clearly has a curious mind and the will to throw herself down some weird rabbit holes. There are personal anecdotes, scientific info, and even plenty of historical superstitions and hilarious cures.
See:
"One favorite douche of the era was made up of garlic and wine. “Wine-filled douchebags were probably the number-one go-to douchebag,” said Caskey-Sigety. These ancient ladies were impressive: They were willing to share booze with a body part that couldn’t even appreciate the flavor."

I also selected a few treasures (tray-jures!) from the chapter about the way we see ourselves and how/why it is different than the way others see us.

"There is nothing worse (except for murder, of course, and finding a long wiry hair in your entrée) than hearing someone say, “That’s a great photo of you,” only to get a glimpse of it and see staring back at you a mustachioed gnome with water-balloon cheeks and a grimace that could stunt-double for an elephant’s anus. If that is a “great” photo, then what am I when I’m captured at my everyday?"

"Trying to figure out what I look like by my image alone is like trying to figure out what a truffle tastes like by holding it in my hand. There’s more in my face—in everyone’s—than solely the superficial."

4 out of 5 Items of Rating - do recommend

This has been a stream of consciousness rant.

I have been an absent friend. And an over-committed, yet underachieving student. I have been a fairly shitty daughter/sibling.

I forget to stay in contact with people, and I wallow in the stresses of life and school.

I make excuses, but sometimes I don't even bother with that.

I don't know why I do these things, but I suspect that at least a portion of it is because I don't excel at being an adult - I am folding under the pressure.

I left behind friends and family when I moved across the country, but I also left behind most of a life that wasn't making me happy. Is life perfect now? No, I am a pulsating lump of human-shaped stress. But, I am in a better (for me) area, I definitely have a better job, and I have someone who makes me incredibly happy to share it with me. Day-to-day life-things still suck for us, but I think they'll get better.

Today's post brought to you by the letter G.

I'm not a post. I'm a terribly photoshopped picture

But I'm a picture that Angie made for her Shakespeare course. A boon if you can guess which play it is for.

The boon is nothing though. Sorry.

Time waits for no man...Or lady.

How has it been 2 months already?!

I will be 30-something in a few days. I've been in Portland for like a year and a half. And school is sucking my will to live. 

                                                     

I don't know if it cuts, but it certainly does suck.
This mothafuckah won't format right, and I just don't care anymore.

I am currently slogging my way through Intro to Web Design, News Writing, Fundamentals of Stage Makeup, and yet another Exploratory Prose course. There is a literal metric fuckload of homework to accompany those courses, which I am currently trying desperately to ignore. And it's only week two--I think this is indicative of smooth sailing from here on. Ha. Ha. Ha.

Throughout it all, I have made time for some light reading--namely I FINALLY got around to reading Anne Bishop's The Other series; at least what there is of it. I read five books in the 2 week break I had from school, and let. me. tell. you: I have not enjoyed five books quite that much in a long time. And here I had been hesitant because I'm just a little tired of kissy books (ahaha, that's topical, you'll see if you read them!). Well, they were not kissy books at all, let me tell you. Surprisingly light on the kissing. And here I thought all Urban Fantasy was all kissing all the time--an assumption I base entirely on my limited knowledge of the genre via Laurell K. Hamilton (bless you Holy Urban-Fan-Mother of Vampire Hunters and Sidhe, I love you, I just didn't want all the kissing and orgy-ing and whatnot this time around).

So, yeah, good times. I liked them, and I'm counting down the days to #6.

That's all you get for now, folks. I have to start my weekly trip through a week's pay in textbooks now.

But before I go, know this: I am currently reading Henry Rollins' Before the Chop LA Weekly Articles 2011-2012 (signed by St. Hank, thankyouverymuch), and his shiny brilliance has inspired me, so I will be expanding off a topic he inspired in the very near future--amazing frontmen/women and totally not disappointing sophmore albums. And then maybe we can trad band recommendations. Us, I mean. Not me and Henry Rollins. Unless he wants to do that, then totally. Quick, someone direct that man to my blog!

Thanks, Google. And Henry, I <3 U. #noshame

IKEA is Horrorstör

I will preface with the following disclaimer:

I have not read Grady Hendrix's Horrorstör - yet. But I know someone who has, and as it was explained to me, it seems pretty damned right-the-fuck-on. We went to IKEA like 2 weeks ago, and I still feel vaguely panicky. Why must it be a giant hedge maze? Why do they pipe in those fuccccccckkkked up smells? (I am not 100% sure this is true - it might just be the legion foul smells of my fellow meat-sacks)

I think this quote from the book nicely sums up my experience:
“There’s nothing waiting inside but retail slavery, endless exploitation, and personal subjugation to the whims of our corporate overlords.”

But, all is well that ends in me not falling to the floor in a mewling, twitching pile. We bought some very adult furniture.
                                     

Like this, but not. Google "adult furniture if you're in the mood to be equal parts bored and...whatever the combination of titilated and confused is - titfused?

We got the Vallentuna sofa (which I can't stop calling Valiant Tuna - so now we have a courageous fish couch), and a headboard/bedframe whose name escapes me because it was way less amusing. But they are both pretty cool because they have lots of storage (like, the couch is MADE OF STORAGE - ALL THE SEATS HAVE STORAGE UNDER THE CUSHIONS - WHY AM I YELLING?!!!)

I don't know why I'm blogging about this except that we have been in the PNW for over a year, and I still don't have any local friends to talk to. Also, between work and school, I don't really talk to anyone anyway.

This Week in College

This week I found a grammar error in my grammar text book. I kind of wish I was joking - I am paying somewhere in the neighborhood of an incredible amount of money for this course, and the writer of the textbook I am expected to take as gospel doesn't realize that when used in its proper noun form, Earth should be capitalized. I'm not salty, but...I'm a little salty. That is an $80 textbook for an $800 grammar class, and they can't even capitalize names properly.

I also drew a cat with large ears. Let's discuss.

I am a mother-fuckin' artiste!

Notice the fine line work, the incredible depth and dimension... Notice how quickly I decided that since this was for a Grammar class assignment, the quality of my drawing was unimportant. Lastly, notice how the couch just disappears into the wall like it is a wall-shaped fucking Stargate. In this story, I think that makes the cat.... James Spader, maybe? 

Now, on a completely (un)related note -- I just picked up Billy Idol's Charmed Life on CD from the Goodwill (you may know it as the 1990 album containing "Cradle of Love"). You probably don't know this about me, but I love-love Billy. I think he is a glorious. craggy man-god. I tell you about buying the CD because on the inside cover rests this little gem that I've taken a bullshit picture of: 

So now I feel like I have to write to Billy Idol. It's just become a Bucket List item. Logic dictates that since this address was valid for this purpose in 1990, it must still be so today, so... I'll let you all know how that goes. 

Wow. It's been 1 year, 5 months since the last time I remembered I had a blog!

In my defense, I... have no defense. I want to use moving as an excuse, but, it would be just that. Please forgive me.

Lets pretend this is a picture of Paul Bettany self-flagellating like in The Da Vinci Code, rather than Paul Bettany being generally brooding and handsome - Google wasn't playing ball today.

So, as I was previously hinting, moving has kind of been a thing. There has been stress, depressions, anxieties, and lots of concerts. The PNW is pretty cool, but the people have taken some getting used to. I think this is largely in part due to my working in the suburbs, but.. it's not overly amazing. I feel like Uber-Goth Teen Me all over again. Except I'm in my 30's and relatively conventional in appearance. But you'd never know it to see the assy looks I seem to be forever getting. Occasionally accompanied by mutterings or snarky comments. It's pretty silly.

But, onto a new topic -- that one annoys me.

I am back in school -- this time I am working toward an English/Writing degree, and I am hoping to segway that into a career in a field related to one of those two things. I feel like a kid again. Like I have abso-posi-fucking-lutely no idea what I want to be when I grow up. Starting over is hard. It is also stupid, exciting, and hopefully rewarding in the end.

But...

#YOLO! (I kid. Can you even punctuate hashtags?? Semi-serious question.)

Clearly I have a solid understanding of how hashtags work. #employable

Angie Out. 

I'll try to do this again in less than 1 year, 5 months. >_<

Sometimes things are meaningful

I'm sorry, it's been forever - again.

Things have been hectic and stuff now that plans are being made to vacate our current domicile - but more on that later - that isn't just my story to tell, you know.

Now, for the things that have meaning....

Those of you who know me probably also know that I am a huge Supernatural fan, and in particular a fan of the philanthropic leanings of those involved in the show. For that reason, I have decided to commit some of my money and also some of my time to the #SPNFamily Crisis Support Network - which you can read about here: #SPNFamily Crisis Support Network if you are interested in learning more. It's pretty compelling stuff, and it tugged at my little heartstrings, so now I want to help.

They also have these fab t-shirts:

Which can be found here in a variety of styles - Fab t-shirts, variety of styles.

That's all for now, but I promise to try to have something new to report soon (as in not 6 months or a year from now).

Throat Punch!!!! Or, My Two Cents - now with CAPS LOCK!

Those of you who know me are likely very aware of my feeling that EVERYONE is entitled to their opinion on pretty much everything. No matter how tragically fucking stupid I might find that opinion. I think it is our right as sentient beings to feel however we want about whatever we want. But there is a point where a line must be drawn. You DON'T GET TO STATE YOUR OPINION AS FACT, and YOU DON'T GET TO CRAM YOUR OPINION DOWN THE THROATS OF EVERYONE YOU COME INTO CONTACT WITH.

I understand that we, as Americans, are in the midst of some extremely polarizing issues at present, but that's nothing new. So HANDLE YOUR SHIT.

Something like aiding refugees is, in my mind, not really a matter of decision. They are PEOPLE. We are PEOPLE. PEOPLE SHOULD HELP OTHER PEOPLE AT EVERY AVAILABLE OPPORTUNITY. What do you really have if you don't even have compassion for other living beings? Maybe it's worth debating exactly WHAT WE DO to help, but how is helping or not even a matter of decision? This isn't a matter of hurt feelings or wounded pride, this is literally a matter of life and death for these people. Fuck your political beliefs. They're irrelevant to this particular conversation. This is bigger than your political ideologies.

Aiding Syrian refugees is in no way related to our deplorable treatment of our veterans. Their plight in NO WAY diminishes that of our veterans. I think the current trend of delivering the ultimatum of "us or them" does both a huge disservice. You're clouding 2 completely separate and incredibly important issues, and I would like to personally throat punch you for being so painfully ignorant. There is no Them. There is only Us - people.

I have ignored so many of my Facebook friends in the last week because I can't abide the fear mongering, hatred, paranoia, and the complete inability of certain of them to engage in reasonable discussion with people whose viewpoints don't completely mirror theirs. Will I cut all ties with them? No. I will simply ignore their inability to intelligently defend their opinions, and rejoin them when the parroting of other's views has tapered off. And then I will reasses their validity as future friends. Because my friends need to require the ability to debate above a 5 year old's level.

What happened to the days when we could have civil conversations about such important topics with such far-reaching implications?

I'm not even mad. Or disappointed. I'm fucking furious. Throat punches all around. I'm mostly kidding about the throat punching. But really, shitting on someone for disagreeing with you is foolish at best. Your simply ensuring that you will never again grow as a human being. Congratulations, Pikachu. Whatever evolved Pikachu's name is is NOT in your future. I was too old for Pokemon. Sue me.

Now that I have vented, if you have something to contribute, I encourage you to do so here - debate is encouraged. Provided you can conduct  yourself like a grownup. Clearly profanity is not a deal breaker, though.

Post-Halloween Clearance rocks my socks off!

I loooooove all things Halloween. Every year, in the week after the holiday, I spend basically all of my excess cash buying boatloads of amazing horror-themed delights. This year, I didn't have quite as much as I would have liked to have blown, but I think that between Shawn and myself, we got a pretty impressive haul - hello, werewolf-skin rug! I only took a few pictures to share, because honestly, transferring them from camera (phone) to laptop is a little more work than I feel like doing (I blame cramps).

So, to get right to it, here we have the 2 AMAZING wreaths I bought from Michaels for 80% off. (O_O) Shawn said these needed to be mentioned, because we don't usually adult, and we both feel that these were acceptably grownup-like,

Please forgive my inability to take a quality photo.

I also got a cake stand (which is currently holding some makeup) with a skeleton hand sticking up out of the center, the aforementioned werewolf-skin rug, some arm-and-hand bone salad servers, a raven hand towel, and probably some other stuff that is escaping me currently.

And, although we bought these last year, I will share the following 2 photos as they just finally went up.

                                        So, bats and bloody hand-prints/blood splatters.

Don't worry, the apartment is not always as messy as it looks in that top picture. I think we were packing for our recently aborted camping trip...

My grip on reality is tenuous

I had a strange night. I don't know what time I fell asleep (any of the numerous times it happened, for that matter), but I remember at one point having an extremely detailed dream that Shawn and I went to some shady looking house that was actually a haunted mansion/carnival thing. Inside, there was a roller coaster-type thing (like, imagine if a roller coaster and a ferris wheel had a baby - only that baby was a hexagonal blob of wood filled with human corpses. Rollerwheeler? Hexagonal Corpse Grinder? I dunno.) that I rode. In order to ride this possibly literal death machine, I had to hold onto the boards on the sides as it whipped me around and down this track, and every time I was at the forefront, I could feel the dead bodies inside it smashing into my back. I am not sure where Shawn was supposed to be at this point. It was tremendous - and by tremendous, I obviously mean disturbing.

Anyway, after I got off the death-coaster-wheel, we decided to leave - but not because we were appropriately horrified - oh, no, no. We decided to leave because it was getting "pretty late." Apparently I am a crotchety old bat in my dreams as well...

After we walked out the door and onto the adorably cobblestoned walkway, we were attacked by a roving band of Juggalos.

I'm just going to let that sink in for a moment.

..............................
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To continue, these Juggalos tried to, I don't know, beat us up or something? But we escaped. Only to wind up in front of the very same Carnival of Creepy. Which the Juggalos had now set fire to. Why are there Juggalos in my dreams???!!! How did I know it was them?! The plot thickens...

For some reason, they decided to frame us for burning down what was, apparently, a pillar of the community. So we ran, because what do you do when the Juggalos come for you? You freakin' run. Those people are kinda creepy... Sorry Juggalos, I've no room to judge, but y'all weird me out. Big time.

And then I woke up.

And now I have to live with knowing I had this dream. It's worse than the old lady and Chucky trying to murder me in a Burger King Playland. Yeah, I've had that one too. More than once.

That Other Time I Time-Traveled

Time Travel seems to be a theme for me lately.

So, to begin - I currently telecommute 4 days a week, which means that I technically only need to leave my house on Wednesdays. This is normally wonderous. Yesterday, not so much.

In order to arrive at my desk by my scheduled start time of 7 AM, I have to leave my house around than 6:15. So, I get in my car, and the clock reads 7:18. This, for whatever reason (rampant stupidity/coffee shortage), totally registers, but bothers me not at all. However, about 40 seconds (give or take 3 minutes) after pulling out of the garage, when my clock suddenly reads 6:21- I straight up lose my shit. I had to pull over to gather my scattered wits. I panicked. I legitimately had the thought, "Oh fuck me, I've travelled to the past! Or is it tomorrow? What if it's been longer!"

Eventually I realized I am, in fact, a complete idiot.

Because Time Travel

Now that I've written something again, I can't seem to stop. You don't know this, but I'm writing to you from the past (yay, scheduling!). I have decided that Cast Puppies need to be discussed. I feel like this is very important.

Last night, in the throes of cold medicine-induced delusions, I found myself explaining to Shawn that if I could just get my hands on a "large, majestic puppy," and 6 leg casts (2 human and 4 puppy shaped), I could quit my job and survive comfortably on the donations of others. See, we would hobble together through parks the world over, and politely explain to any who would listen (well, I would - clearly this kind of thing is not in the puppy's wheelhouse. He could only communicate it to other puppies. Unless, he's a magic puppy like Air Bud - but I digress). In hindsight, I realize this would be a con - and not really in line with my moral compass and/or general work ethic, but I was relatively certain that it would be a perfectly acceptable life choice.

I feel that it is worth mentioning that this whole line of conversation began because I started by....

EXPLAINING THAT FREE CANDY ONLY HELPS KIDNAP CHILDREN AND IDIOTS, AND THAT THE TICKET TO TEENS OR ADULTS IS TO CARRY A BOX OF INJURED PUPPIES IN YOUR VAN, BUT...SPOILER ALERT: THEY AREN'T REALLY INJURED (you're not a monster) THEY'RE WEARING CASTS FOR PRETEND - TO HELP YOU KIDNAP BECAUSE IT MAKES YOU HAPPY AND THEYJUSTLOVEYOUSOMUCHANDWANTYOUTOBEHAPPY.

So, yeah. That all happened.

I have so much to write, and so little motivation to write it.

The world is a big, scary....thing, and I haven't really felt like being an active part of it in quite some time. Sorry.

There, now that's been said, let's move on, shall we?

My brother got married recently. It was a perfectly short ceremony, and I cried. A lot. Probably while loudly protesting that I was not crying. It's all a bit of a blur, really. I will try to explain myself here, because it might make my behavior seem less awkward in hindsight.

First, there were, like, 20 people there that I didn't know. Crowds and/or strangers stress me out. Possibly because I'm defective. Also, my niece was the most adorable tiny lady I have ever seen - as always. I was really proud of/uncomfortable with my brother being such a fucking adult all of a sudden.

And then shit got super crazy up inside my brains. I started thinking about how suddenly I have this new family member. And a sister, no less. And why do I only hear from the sister I ALREADY HAVE (every few years) ONLYWHENSHEWANTSMONEYORTOUSEMYCAR?! WHYISTHISMYLIFE?! And then I realized I was being insane, so I made my brain stop trying to do...whatever the shit that was.

To summarize: I think I can safely say now that I know what temporary insanity feels like.

That's all you get for now.maybe next time we can talk about me and a puppy in leg casts and why this is the future of wealth.

Random Update

I have been getting really overwhelmed by EVERYTHING lately. Like, it has gotten bad enough that most days, I actually struggle to leave the house. Work, school, life, the world, people... It is just freaking me out. A lot. So, I was thinking - (bear with me, this is going to get a little...snakey...)

I have a ton of makeup. Like, seriously, you would be horrified. There's sooo much of it. And I buy new stuff pretty regularly. At last count I had over 300 different eyeshadows. I probably have 30 different shades of lipstick. Hell, I have nail polish for basically every conceivable situation.

But! There is a reason for this seemingly random statement. Makeup, to me, is sort of like battle armor. When I take the time to put on makeup, I feel...a little better. Better about myself, better about life, and better about the world in general.

So, I think I have found a solution to whatever this is that makes me freak the hell out every time I have to be in public with more than, like, 5 people: FULL ON BODY PAINT.

Just kidding, I know that is fucking ludicrous (although the horrors of my makeup addiction are very, very real). But seriously, this is a very real problem for me right now. I now regularly freak out in public. Like, sweating, heart-racing, might vomit, and I'm just generally becoming more and more unpleasant to be around out in the real world. Does that happen to any of you readers (assuming there are readers)? What do you do? Is there any way to deal with this that doesn't involve my life spinning horribly out of control when I become hopelessly, Requiem for a Dream-ly addicted to weird crazy pills?

Magic potions, Harry Potter spells, mantras, gris-gris, anything?!

I suck at having a blog.

I do. I know. School, life, excuses, etc.

But just for a moment, can we talk about how right the world is right now?

I graduate in May.

I just got back from a wonderful vacation with the most amazing boyfriend I could ever have hoped for.

There will soon be a baby AFP/Neil Gaiman.

AND IT'S ZOMBEAVERS EVE!

Life feels pretty good right now.