Doodle Journey

This is a story I'm going to make up completely on the spot about this page of doodles that I found on my desk. Don't worry, I've made sure to black out any of the un-useful stuff. You know, work notes, addresses, phone numbers, boring stuff that's clearly just taking up space.

Here goes:

Once upon a time, in a time that wasn't a time, but more of a space, there lived a small, buggy-eyed robot named Gantron. One day, on his way to the great layered-cube forest, he got caught in a snow flurry. It was there that he saw the beautiful snowflake, Melinda, and immediately fell in love. But as he was passing her his gift-triangle, something terrible happened. The jealous gravity-gnome Bargle became jealous, with the jealousy of a mountain, and carried Melinda off into the black scribble of darkness. Gantron's heart exploded.

Heartbroken, Gantron asked his electric grandmother stormcloud what he could do. 

    

     "Well," she said, "Why don't you just call her on the phone?"

     "I would, shocky granny, but the Great Artist who created our world has scribbled out the phone number!"

     "Oh, I see." the cloudy lightning-grandlady said. "Well, then I've got it! Why don't you just go to where Bargle has taken her? I saw the address written- ah, well, crap."

Alas. The Great Artist had allowed the black ink of destruction to blot out the only address in their whole world. It seemed that Melinda truly was lost. 

But, suddenly, a tasty hexagonal quesadilla fell from the sky, and filled Gantron's wisdom-belly. Suddenly filled with knowledge and gooey cheese, Gantron put on his best tie somewhat resembling a cat's nose, and jumped down the scary scribble-corridor to where Bargle could be found.

     

     "You cannot have her!" Bargle cried. 

But Gantron had a secret weapon. Armed with a starfruit and the color red, he gave it everything he got. Bargle fought back with strange backwards and squished hiragana with such force, the very edges of their world became ragged. 

Just then, Melinda pulled out her secret weapon: the hairy circle. hurling it at Bargle, he screamed, and was sucked into the blank space, becoming pure potential, ceasing to be Bargle. 

Melinda and Gantron embraced, poofing into a flurry of hearts, birthing a new snowstorm of baby robotic snowflakes, beautiful and buggy-eyed.

And they all lived happily ever after.

THE END

(you're welcome)

Merry Christmas from 95 Linden

Happy Holidays to friends, family, loved ones, pretty people and awkward-limbed lovelies, and, of course, everyone in between.

For your viewing pleasure, here is a little photo shoot we've put together for you. Well, for us, but we're not selfish. We'll share ;)

And of course, as always-

You're welcome.

I'm Pooping: An exploration of faces one might have while pooping in public.

An exploration of faces one might have while pooping in public.

Dedicated to Mary Cummings

 "I'm pooping."

 "Aaah! I'm pooping!!"

"Uh... I'm pooping."

"Oooh... yeah, I'm pooping."

 "Nooooo... I'm pooping..."

"(I'm pooping...)"

 "No... YOU'RE pooping..."

"Uh, yeah... I'm pooping."

"Chyeah I'm poopin!"

"What do you think? Of course I'm pooping."

"Uh, yeah I'm pooping. Idiot."

 "Don't chy'all know I made a poop, riiiiight?"

"YAY!!! I POOPED!"

 "Ahahahaha!!! Emojipoooooop!"

"Hey Facebook, I'm poopin."

and of course, my favourite:

POOPTWEETING!!!!!

You're Welcome.

4-minute Blog

I have been trying to blog every day, so that leaves me with 4, now 3 minutes to post.

Today I woke up way too early, sat on the floor watching Parks & Rec, frightened the delivery guy (like he's never seen a girl crying in a panda suit before), ate, and somehow dragged myself and a bag full of baking ingredients out to Port Chester to hang with Patrick and Alex.

Here are some of the highlights:

We finished up the night crocheting and watching Christmas movies like some grumpy old folks, complaining about how bloated we were from eating our weight in sugar cookies and pizza.

P.S. Have you rewatched some of the old nostalgic Christmas movies? I still love them, but wow are they different. I actually cringed a lot more watching Home Alone. Uf. I'm old.

Does midnight still count?

Love.

Love comes in a lot of forms. Sometimes you have to figure out what that love is, but if you are honest with everyone (including if not mostly with yourself), you will figure out what it is and what it needs to be.

This is a very short blog post. I just broke up with my very lovely, wonderful boyfriend because we are figuring out what our love is.

I'm also a little bit drunk with a few others who love me. I am grateful for all the love I have in my life. Have courage. Love freely and boldly.

ALi out.

Socks

I'm watching TOWIE with roomie Aris and yelling at everyone about their terrible choices. Have you seen this show?! Don't do it. It will destroy you from the inside.

I spent a good time lying in Maxwell's (the dog that doesn't live there but claimed a room) room, listening to NPR's 'Serial' (much later in the game than the rest of you, so don't spoil it or I'll come toothpaste-freeze your underwear), and realized that I can't actually remember the last time I wore a pair of socks that matched.

This is surprising, considering my strange OCD tendencies, but I guess less surprising considering my stubborn I-don't-like-to-feel-controlled-by-your-stupid-matching-socks-societal-rules tendencies. 

Plus, think of all the time I save not having to match them up! Precious seconds that can be better spent taking pictures of the thing I didn't do. And blogging about it.

I was going to post a video of roomie Patrick's 'Meow Meow' couch routine, but apparently he's out having a life or something. But don't worry. I made a great post about my socks instead. You just read it.

You're welcome.

Depression and Dumb Projects

As part of my ADD and chronic condition of being human, I go through bouts of depression from time to time. I find the best way to fight this is to pump up my Iggy Azalea (<- had to look up the spelling) Pandora station, and start a project.

I had stayed up past 3 a.m. the night before crocheting hats like a grandma, so that had sort of lost its magic. So I've moved on to 2 other projects I've been itching to work on.

Recently, I bought an IKEA mirror with shelves behind it so I didn't have to sit in a fort made of toiletries while I got ready in the morning. 

Naturally, the mirror was constructed and installed at least a month before I finally got to this project, but I finally reached my boredom capacity and pulled out all of my makeup, hair products, and any other toiletries or first aid bathroom supplies I had in the apartment. If you haven't done this recently, give it a shot, and you may be surprised with what you find.

For a girl that barely throws on mascara and lip gloss on a regular day, I had a shocking amount of cosmetics. Seriously, there were like 12 lip liners, which I don't wear because it is frightening on me, and of course 5 PAIRS OF TWEEZERS. (As an aside, I am proud of the stick on googly-eye glitter nails.) I don't even remember purchasing or acquiring most of these things, but apparently it snuck up on me like a creepy inside-the-walls mold. That you put on your face.

Pretty proud of the result though.

***

The second project I'm quite proud of, and some others might find it useful, so I am putting it up here. I am a pretty spiritual person, and I like to spend time meditating, writing down thoughts (that I usually throw away the next time I read them because they're stupid and embarrassing), and maybe staring at a candle like a weirdo. Who knows. So I decided to put together a little zen altar, but any I could find to buy were crazy expensive. By crazy expensive, I mean anything over 20 dollars, which may actually be reasonable for a normal person, but we've already been over my life choices, and an artist as artsy as I am can't be bothered with such things as reasonable income. 

My solution: a shoerack from Target! Luckily, I put it together the wrong way on the first attempt, so a few curses and mood swings later, I ended up with something resembling a small table, as I decided to only use the top shelf. I added a fancy little circle rug to make it a little cozier (and to keep my butt from falling asleep and bony ankles from destroying themselves), and it is well on its way. 

For Christmas I've asked for little meaningful doo-dads to put on it, and maybe even a little cloth something. I could string up lights! The opportunities are endless when it comes to superficial ways to decorate a meaningful spiritual space in your home. Don't hold back.

A.D.D. and Important Questions

So I've recently come across this little gem, and I find it appropriate today. Well, honestly, it's appropriate most days, but today is the day I'm putting it here.

Today my ADD is full-force, so this post will most certainly reflect that.

My thoughts for today:

1. I changed my blog font to courier, because it is way douch-ier.

- I like working with spraypaint because it makes me look cool

B) Advantage to being an artist: I'm not aimless and irresponsible; I'm mysterious

*How much social media do you think is actually performed while pooping? Seriously. Please let me know how many of you are guilty of tweeting, facebooking, etc. (though hopefully not instagramming) while on the john? Be honest. I'll start. I am. And don't lie to me, because I'll know.

IMPORTANT UPDATE: As soon as I posted and shared this post, I immediately texted my roommates about the exciting new hashtag I had just invented, to which they responded with this:

Um, is it weird to post twice, like right in a row? Too bad, I'm doing it.

Today, I was talking to Patrick today about being an artist. BARF. I know. We're a bunch of douches. But it's kind of great.

I am really grateful to have a passion. Passions? Passion. Like an ocean, filled up with the creepy deep-sea creatures that make up my soul.

I've been talking to several people lately, and saw a show on Broadway that made me realize that for a lot of people, part of becoming an adult is when your childhood dies, and you settle. As horrifying as it sounded to me, I realized that a lot of us do it, there really is no shame in it, but heavens to Betsy am I glad that I have found my passion. And maybe a little bit scared?

Sometime in this past week, I was in one of my I'm-sitting-somewhere-staring-off-dramatically-thinking-deep-thoughts-probably-on-the-floor (a lot of my thinking happens on the floor, apparently) moments, and I realized that most people of the adult world have a life direction with foreseeable progress.

I don't. In fact, I have to come to terms with the fact that I may be in the same place financially for the rest of my life. And level of success- from an external view, but let's not pretend that isn't a thing. I may be a snobby artist, but it's not all just about expressing myself and creating just for me. It's not that I'm not selfish, in fact it's probably that I'm even more selfish than that. Which is another thing we discussed.

I want attention. But don't get me wrong. Not just any attention. If I wanted that, I'd just go streaking at major landmarks, and crashing trashy television shows. There is a really strong stigma about wanting attention, so I think that a lot of people are afraid to admit it, and talk about it as part of their drive.

Especially artists. I can't speak for all artists, but I'm definitely not alone in that I want to be heard, I want what I do to be seen, and I want validation for it. Maybe it's an ego thing, but I think there's more to it. There's a connection that is made between artist and audience that is so incredibly satisfying and fulfilling, that I know I will never be able to not do it. I have tried corporate jobs, more financially stable positions, all of it, but I know for the rest of my life, I will endlessly be drawn to the moment where someone understands and appreciates the weird things that I do, because those things are what I understand and appreciate. It's like being lost in a foreign country, and coming across someone who finally speaks your language.

Also, part of what intrigues me most as an artist is human nature. We all have those deep, dark little monsters in us that make up who we are. Selfishness, stupidness, laughing at someone when they fall down... It's all there, and I don't want to ignore it. There's something great and healthy about being able to just laugh at ourselves and just how dumb we are every day. It's part of being human. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

This was so much longer than I thought it would be. Kudos and thank you to anyone who made it this far. I'm going to add some pictures so it's not so boring. Also, here is a shameless selfie of myself (um, is there any other kind of selfie? great job, me) because I like this hat.

Hello, I'm here!

I was writing a post about why I'm starting this blog, but then I got bored of it, so I deleted it.

I'm starting this blog. I'm feeling restless, and the other day I was sitting on the floor and decided that I really need to be a weirdo more often.

And I want to share my weirdness. There is also a lot of weirdness that happens around me. Maybe I attract it, maybe I create it, or maybe I just notice it a lot more because I find it interesting. Either way, I am going to start putting it all on here.

You're welcome.

There are a lot of weird, glorious moments that happen in my apartment at 95 Linden, which inspired the name for the blog. Musicals in the kitchen, interpretive dances to television show intros, strange arts-and-crafts projects... It's gonna get weird. Or just stupid. We'll see.

At any rate, the other day, Max decided he wanted to come up with a new dance move:

I can feel it going viral already.