October 21, 2016

COMMISSION STATUS: NO VACANCY

Not taking commissions until at least the New Year, but will entertain ideas for them from patrons for potential work this winter.

Here’s the last commission I did (prints will be available soon, click to enlarge):

Visit SunnyGrrrl.com for art/life stuff! Visit SunnylandStudio.com to buy art! Or @SunnyCrittenden for all my socials!

BYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

<3 <3 <3

October 18, 2015

Warts & All: The Whole Story

Madison moved out in May. She’s my daughter. She’s 17. She’s decided that the best way to rebel against us is to become an independent, responsible adult, so she lives at the beach now and checks in every now and then and that’s just the deal with Madison. Her boyfriend is significantly older. He is an adult. It’s creepy and weird but legal and it’s her body and life so, go, live at the beach, be in love, be poor, experience things, be free, have your heart broken and learn. She’s always welcome back. That has basically been my position on the situation since day one.

Madison left behind a room full of garbage and her 9 year old cat that she’s been saying since she was 12 that she’d take with her when she moved out. Realistically, Madison can’t take care of a cat, especially this cat, so we were begrudgingly fine with her leaving her behind. The cat’s name is Pixel, btw. She’s not a long-haired black/brown tabby, but she’s definitely fluffy and could never be accused of being short-haired, and she has a little nubbin of a bunny tail because of her origin story.

In the spring of 2006, my new friends in our new town, Jesse & Jen, called me up and said they found some kittens at Jesse’s house and they were sick and hurt and they didn’t know what to do with them. Jesse lives in the middle of nowhere with farmer’s fields on all sides of him and I guess the kittens had been born and living with their mom underneath the concrete steps on the back of his house, coming in and out through a cat-sized crack on the side. They were about 6-8 weeks old.

So Jesse & Jen trap the kittens and their mother and bring them over to my house in a cat carrier. There were five kittens, a couple of black and white ones, a grey tabby and our cat Pixel. All of the kittens had crusty, bloody, infected stumps where their tails had formerly been and the worst case of worms I’ve ever witnessed with my own eyes in an animal. While holding one of the kittens, I actually watched, in HORROR, as a worm slithered out of one of the kittens’ anuses and into its urethra, smooth as butter, causing the kitten to cry. It happened so fast and I was so unprepared for it, there was nothing I could do but watch this happen. My theory on the missing tails was that something big and predatory and too big to fit through the crack in the concrete steps chased the kittens to eat them and just nipped their tails every time until they didn’t have any more. They could have also been frostbitten, but it was been pretty warm.

The mama cat was black and her tail was intact and she was as feral as cats come, just nothing domesticated about her in the slightest.

At the time, I had a new house, the dog I always wanted and two little kids who thought these kittens were the greatest things that ever lived. The three of us decided I wanted to keep one and I let the kids decide which one they would theoretically want and each kid picked a different one and would not agree. I called Blake, my husband, at work and said, “Hey so there’s these cats here, can we have a cat?” and he said, “I’d really prefer not to have a cat”. So I kept both kittens the kids wanted and we named them Digit (the boy) and Pixel (the girl). Blake calls this “cat logic”. You don’t want ANY cats but you end up with TWO.

Here’s where Madison likes to point out that technically, she chose Digit and Wes chose Pixel. Madison would have been 8 and Wes would have been 3 or 4.

The other kittens and the mom were taken to the OSPCA by Jen after staying at our house overnight and throughout the first year, we watched the kittens grow and play and be delightful. Digit had an issue with spraying at one point but once we got them both fixed, that stopped, but now, since the smell of cat was in the carpet and on various things that are hard to get cat out of, they both started peeing where they shouldn’t have every now & then, but still almost always using the litter box and going outside often.

When the kittens were about a year old, Digit got hit on the road in front of our neighbour’s house and it was gross and sad and that was the end of Digit. That was also the beginning of the end of going outside for Pixel. I know it’s so fucking unlikely that I probably shouldn’t even mention it, but in my narrative for Pixel is that she saw Digit get hit on the road and it scared her so she stopped leaving our yard. Then she only went outside in the summer to massacre mice at night. Then she stopped going out at all.

For the first few years of her not going outside, she used the litter box, but still pee’d in the areas where there had been pee before, despite all the enzyme whatever cleaners we used. The carpet at the time was an old orange shag that came with our house so it was impossible to clean and then even after we replaced it, she’d still go to the same spots. Then we tried putting the litter boxes in those spots and she just picked new spots, so we took her to the vet to see if she had something wrong with her like an infection or kidney problems or something. He tested her urine, felt her abdomen, declared her healthy and that she was just being a shithead feral cat. (Our vet is more of a dog person.)

So for years, me and the kids (but not Blake because he wants no part in animal care) have been cleaning up after this cat who only uses the litter box when the planets are aligned just right and the Earth’s at a specific angle and it’s a full moon because what else are we going to do? There are four litter boxes in my house full of Cat Attract cat litter and she’s only used them three times and we can’t figure out why those three times, but I’m getting ahead of myself…

Something we realized early on is that the cat disliked messes. If a towel was left on the floor, she pee’d on it. If a piece of clothing was on the floor, she’d pee on it. If someone left their bag leaned up against the couch but on the floor, there was a good chance she’d pee on it. The only person in the house who seemed to not understand this or simply didn’t care, was Madison.

As is often the case with teenagers, Madison’s room was never clean, and it wasn’t for lack of trying to keep it that way. Wes is the neat and tidy kid whose room is organized and Madison’s always been a force of nature with a room to match. Unfortunately, Pixel chose Madison as her “person” and Madison’s room as her dog-free, quiet place to hang out. She also chose Madison’s room as her own personal litter box because Madison’s room was always chaos with everything thrown on the floor and garbage in her bed.

Madison’s room has been clean one day per week, just enough to collect allowance, since forever and she didn’t tell us most of the times the cat pee’d in her room or on her things, she’d just leave a layer of clothes detritus on her floor at all times for the cat to pee on and then on Friday Chores Day, throw it all in the washing machine and pretend nothing ever happened. What she either didn’t realize or didn’t care about was that this was actually soaking into her carpet.

During this time, Madison was also entering that phase of the teen years where you close your door 24/7 because you’re either in your room hiding from your parents or you don’t want your parents snooping through your shit when you’re gone, so combine the fact that Madison was not cleaning up after the cat in her own room, where the cat was primarily peeing and she never opened her door, we never really knew the full scope of the damage until Madison moved out in May and the room was mostly empty except for garbage and items the cat had pee’d on and Madison didn’t want to take.

I won’t lie. Madison moving out affected me. I didn’t see it coming because our relationship was fine and I was choosing to trust her to do the things she promised to do and honour the agreements she made, but she didn’t and rather than be an honourable person, she decided to run away from her own compromises. That was disappointing to me, but again, like I said in the beginning, it’s her life and it’s hers to live.

During the stress of Madison leaving, I went in her room a lot and every time I was in there, I was astounded at how bad she had let her floor get with cat pee. It was evident to me that before we do anything with that room, we needed to redo the floor with laminate flooring or something that the cat can’t ruin, especially in case Madison came home. She 17. In my mind that means that we have one more year where we are obligated to provide for her a clean, safe place to sleep and I needed that room to be that for her.

I expressed this to my husband and a fight ensued. He wanted to know why Madison’s room took precedence over the living room, which he claimed was just as bad (not by a long shot), when she didn’t even live here anymore and he and Wes were in there all day, every day? I told him I felt like a bad mom, which to me should have been the end of it. I wanted to rip up the carpet and put laminate flooring in Madison’s room and then deep clean the living room carpet. He disagreed. Said we couldn’t afford it (which I thought was bullshit because we had just been talking about renovating my office weeks prior). I e-mailed my mother to get her advice and she wrote back the next day saying to rip up the carpet and deep clean the living room. I took that to mean “do Madison’s room” and thought that’d be the end of it.

Later that night, after Blake came home from work, I asked if we could go out for sushi. I had completed a colouring page by its deadline by the skin of my teeth and wanted to celebrate. (Apparently I didn’t actually voice that, which may or may not be true.)

While we were sitting in the parking lot, he brought up my mom’s e-mail and we had a heated fight about the issue again. I had been in the mood to celebrate and him picking a fight with me at that moment made me explode with rage, especially since I thought my mom’s reply was pretty clear on the order in which to do things and what the priorities were. Blake actually left me at the restaurant and drove around the block because I got up in his face and threatened to beat the shit out of him when we got home, which was just an anger threat, as if I could even beat him up and as if I’d still be mad by the time we got home.

He came and got me and we drove home in silence. That night I raged because I felt Blake had picked a fight and now I had to be left to deal with my own personal fallout an hour before I needed to be asleep so I could get up for work at 5am the next morning. I called my mom and all she did, as per usual, is make the situation worse by Saint Blaking me to death. She told me if I wanted the floor done that I should get in the car and go to the flooring store with the measurements and have them do it. She said this knowing full well that I’m mentally ill, specifically AGORAPHOBIC, afraid of driving and CAN’T do things like that, so this is the kind of help my mom gives. It’s not even help it’s just further antagonism so I don’t know why I ever bothered and will never make that mistake again.

After she suggested that I was so exasperated because it was just such a shitty, unhelpful thing to say that I slammed the phone against the wall 3 times until I broke the display. Blake thought I was throwing things around and he decided he was going to take Wes and stay at my mom’s that night.

When I woke up the next morning I was still mad. What I didn’t realize was that I wasn’t in my right mind because when you’re crazy, you don’t actually know you’re crazy. Along with agoraphobia, I also have bipolar disorder I and generalized anxiety disorder and I was in what I now know to be a “mixed state”, where you’re depressed and manic at the same time. In me, I guess this manifests as anger.

Hindsight is 20/20 of course, but in looking back, this was a long time coming. I had pretty much been without any mental health support for about a year, after my old shrink (who I really liked) retired and the new shrink the mental health centre assigned me was a pill dispensing automaton. She had advised me to try going off of my 2nd antidepressant, Cipralex, which had side effects I couldn’t deal with, before trying something else, so for the few months leading up to this situation, I was depressed and suicidal and everyone and their brother knew it but very few people seemed to even notice that I was slipping.

That morning I didn’t go to work. I had a shower and put on clean clothes with the conscious thought that “I may end up somewhere by the end of this”. Then I began loading everything Blake owned into garbage bags and dragged them all out to the driveway for his convenience because I wanted to show him how serious I was about this floor thing that shouldn’t have even been a fight yet somehow was.

I had just come in from taking the last load out when Blake messaged me on AIM, trying to talk. By that point I was beyond talking to. I was beyond rational. I was in a mixed state and in need of antipsychotics. And he was still fighting me on this floor thing. I told him not to come home unless it was to pick up his shit and started talking about how the house was mine. I told him if he showed up here I would have to call the police. He said he was on his way, sooooooooo…I called the police, thinking he was in the town 20 minutes away rather than my mom’s town an hour away.

When I called 911 I told them I needed police dispatch because I had some questions. I wanted to know if it would be possible for officers could be present so the fight didn’t escalate. And by escalate and I do mean violence because when I get like this I break shit and throw shit and could hurt you. When the lady on the other end of the phone asked if I felt I was in danger I said no, but I thought Blake might be. She told me, and please remember this because it’s important, that, “yes, officers are often called just to come keep the peace” and she said she’d send someone out.

When the cops got here I asked them to look at Madison’s room and tell Blake that it would be child abuse for her to move back into that room should she decide to come home. They’re the cops, surely they know what’s acceptable living quarters for a kid and what’s not. They weren’t interested in that. They wanted to know what started this whole thing, so I started telling them about the fight the night before and the one cop asked if any threats had been made. I said I didn’t think so. He asked me if I was sure, I was like, “not that I remember”. He asked a third time, and I said, “well I may have threatened to kill him in his sleep or something that I obviously didn’t mean” and that’s when both cops’ eyes lit up and they both said “WHOA WHOA WHOA” and stopped listening to me. The main cop, Officer Black, started lecturing me on how the police aren’t marriage counsellors and when I tried to defend myself and tell him that HIS OWN DISPATCH told me differently and that was the only reason they were there, he shot me down and said, “look, you’re probably gonna have to get a divorce if it’s gotten to the point of death threats” and I started unravelling right then and there. He told me they were going to charge me with uttering a death threat and that they were going to take me to jail. I said, “why? Why? What is that going to prove? That is a CHOICE,” I explained how I was mentally ill and had never been in trouble with the police before (on paper) so what on Earth did he think he would be accomplishing by making me go through all that? How was that helping this situation in any conceivable way? I said, “it sure sounds like you boys are all about bros before hos.” Officer Black didn’t like that.

After they stopped listening to me, my ears stopped hearing them, but I heard “need a divorce” from the lips of Officer Black’s mouth no less than 3 times and “jail” more times than that. Those two words echoed in my head and I became fixated on them. I don’t really know what happened next because for part of it I was definitely not in my right mind, part of it I just don’t remember and the rest I’ve only pieced together from things Blake or my lawyer’s said or I’ve heard in court and everyone’s versions of events are different. All I know is that the cops just up and left and said they’d be back and then Blake texted me 20 mins later that he was at the police station. Then I swallowed a metric fuck tonne of pills, went to sleep and tried to die.

MEANWHILE….Blake’s at the police station trying to explain to these backwoods idiot cops that this is not a domestic dispute, this is a mental health crisis. That when I told dispatch, when asked whose safety I was concerned with, I answered Blake’s, I meant because I was afraid it would escalate like that time I hit him with an axe handle a few days before we found out 3 days later I was pregnant and hormonal crazy on top of what we now know was undiagnosed/medicated mental illness. “Ooooooh,” said Officer Black, as Blake ended that story, “tell us more. *strokes chin*”

So as examples of WHAT I WAS TRYING TO AVOID BY CALLING THE COPS because he knows me and knows exactly what was happening, Blake tells them about the 3 brain chemistry related epic fights we had within the first 3 years of our 13 year marriage, PRIOR to diagnosis and medication, which ended up with me hitting him with something (axe handle, pregnant, which if I remember correctly, started with, “if you come near me I’m gonna fucking hit you with this,” and making good on the threat; then one time I hit him with a plastic juice pitcher after I didn’t get the desired effect from pouring ice water on him from it while he was sleeping and I was still raging over the fight we had a few hours before and I was pissed he COULD sleep) or destroyed property (one time we had a DEFINITE mental illness related fight that resulted in me taking his comics and ripping them all up and then when he said, “whatever! Go ahead!” and started ripping them up right along with me, I got pissed, grabbed his heavy ass guitar, took it outside and smashed it against a snowbank in the backyard until he asked me if I was done).

That’s when the cops say, “oh thanks for telling us all this horrific yet super old shit, we’re gonna charge your wife with assault with weapons and uttering death threats despite the fact that A) you told us she never said what she said she said and B) we were just told she was sent to the hospital after attempting suicide”.

NOPE. NOT A MENTAL HEALTH SITUATION AT ALL, GUYS!

“Oh and there’s gonna be a ‘no contact’ order so you guys can’t see each other until after she goes to jail and then court.”

Instead of neutralizing the situation, Officer Black antagonized me while in an agitated state and escalated the situation because he’s had no mental health training, but I’ll get to that later.

Apparently when I was in the psych ward at the hospital, it was completely illegal for Blake to come see me but I had no idea and neither did the hospital. Apparently because of the ‘no contact’ order, after I was discharged from the hospital, I was supposed be picked up by the police and taken to jail until my court date, but instead, Blake picked me up and I got to spend two days at home recalibrating and hiring a lawyer before surrendering myself to the police on the Friday.

That Friday, I went to the police station and was photographed and fingerprinted. I was in such shell shock that I can’t even tell you a single thing while I was there other than the following:

  • They don’t fingerprint you with ink anymore, they scan your fingers. It’s pretty cool.
  • When I asked why Officer Black escalated the situation rather than diffuse it, he said he didn’t and that his partner would back up anything he said. I asked him if he’d had any mental health training and he said no. When I told him maybe he should get some, he said, “ehn” and sorta shrugged. I’ve since learned that mental health training is available to them all but it’s voluntary. Oh and I did thank Officer Black for failing utterly at his job.

The plan was that I was surrendering myself to the police so I’d be processed first thing in the morning, before their bus thing left for the courthouse, have my day at court, ideally have the charges and the ‘no contact’ order thrown out and if not, have Blake be my assurity (post bail in Canadian) until the lawyer sorted it out and that would be the end of it. Blake hired our own lawyer rather than relying on duty counsel.

I go the courthouse in the back of the police bus by myself, in cuffs and they unload me and other buses of “prisoners” at the back of the building and put us in cells, 5 to a cell, segregated by gender. They cut the strings from my hoodie because they wouldn’t pull out. “Cut ‘em or take it off,” the lady guard said. *snip* I was allowed to keep my shoes because they didn’t have laces but the girls in my cell were wearing government-issued stringless shoes that didn’t fit any of them.

The cell was thick, white-painted brick walls, with a little waist high divider for the toilet and two wooden benches. I sat on the floor and let the other girls fight over the benches. I just kept my eyes in my lap and cried because this is a fucked up situation for anyone but you have to understand that I don’t leave my house or go anywhere or even have a doctor’s appointment by myself and haven’t for a very long time because I have massive phobias and anxiety.

The loudmouth of the girls in my cell said, “you don’t belong here, why are you here”, not as a question but more as a matter of fact. I told her I threatened to kill my husband because up until that point that’s all I knew I was being charged with. “Ya shoulda fuckin’ done it,” she said, and then started yelling out the bars of our cell to her real life boyfriend who was in the cell across from us.

They gave us ham sandwiches and juice boxes. The sandwiches were good. The juice boxes were juice boxes.

They called my name and I put my hands through the slot in the cell door, they handcuffed me and let me to a little room made out of thin drywall where I met my lawyer for the first time. Her name was Angela and we picked her because she had a dog on her website. It’s always good to go with the ones with animals on their sites for shrinks and lawyers, just as a general life rule. She told me about the assault with weapons charges and that Blake couldn’t be my assurity because of the ‘no contact’ order and I’m like, I’m being charged with WHAT? What assault? WHAT? And when she read the cop’s report I was like, “you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me”. She told me not to worry (don’t they always say that?), that Blake was trying to get a hold of my best friend Alex to come and be my assurity so I didn’t have to spend the weekend in jail. Then I’m taken back to the cell and I take my seat on the floor, start crying again. I’d smuggled in two Kleenexes, which were sopping wet. The loudmouth girl said, “how’d it go?” so I told her what I was being charged with and why. She said, “see? I told ya you shoulda killed him.”

There was an older lady sitting on the bench across from me and she tried distracting me from the horrors of jail by telling me of its highlights, “it’s like summer camp!” she promised. I asked her what they let you have there, meaning like, paper, a pencil, a book, an ipod….”Nothing,” she answered. Oh.

They called my name again. Cuffs again. Taken to the little room again. While I waited for my lawyer to show up on the other side of the glass, I could hear people talking to their lawyers in the little rooms on either side of me. Angela shows up, says she has good news. They couldn’t use Alex for assurity because she happened to be in Militiagan at the time visiting her husband’s family “but don’t worry, Blake called your mom and she’s on her way.” I was equal parts happy and horrified.

Eventually I’m taken in cuffs to the courtroom. They sat me in a little box to the side of the court with bullet-proof glass on half of it and words were said and my mom was there and she was looking at me sometimes but Blake wasn’t (I figured they told him not to make contact with me and I was right). The charges were read out and it was made so that I couldn’t go anywhere without my mom and I had to live at her house until the ‘no contact’ order was lifted. My court date was for 6 weeks later.

Without going into the gory details because if you know me at all or have read things I’ve written before, you know that my mom had me when she was 15 and my childhood was not an easy one. I was legally emancipated from my parents when I was 15, with the help of the government, because they felt it was in my better interest to be left to my own defenses than be “parented” by either people claiming the title. This doesn’t happen when you come from a “nice family” or a “good home”.

My mother and I get along fabulously as long as the topic of my childhood is avoided at all costs because her version of events and my memories are not the same. Naturally, because this was a mental health situation, which is generally linked to my childhood and family history, the subject was gonna come up if I had to stay with her and I was so worried that it was going to ruin all the progress we’d made over the years to finally get along. I don’t care what she says, she was a shitty “kid mom”, she just was, and I blame it completely on the fact that she was a kid too and we were raised in a difficult family by difficult and mentally ill people, but as an “adult mom” and grama to my kids, she and her fiancé have been pretty great.

I was grateful. My mom saved my ass from jail. She can scratch that off her bucket list! Blake left the courthouse to pack stuff for me to stay at my mom’s house for an indefinite amount of time, my mom and I signed paperwork and then we met him at a Tim Hortons where he gave me my stuff and I went to live with my mom. When my mom saw my webcam attached to my 2nd monitor, she turned up her nose and said “just what do you think you’re going to be needing that for?” as if I was a 25 year old camgirl camming from my bedroom in my mom’s house and it was any of her business. “Uh, for Skype training? Work meetings?” because at the time I was at the end of training three people every morning for several months at my actual job, that is a for real thing, that I do from home, with real people, for real dollars and we do have weekly work meetings via webcam. This is the world in which I function. It is very different from my mom’s.

When he got home, my mom’s fiancé was livid. He has a temper and spent the evening outside screaming at her under my window about how I couldn’t stay there which is exactly what I needed two days after getting out of the psych ward and then a cell, when the world was still so fucking bright and noisy and I was still so raw. As they fought, I set my stuff up in her sun room and cried because I was in the 2nd last place I wanted to be, with someone screaming about basically what a burden and inconvenience I am after I just tried to kill myself and those are common themes among mentally ill people when they rationalize suicide. And I better not be using their internet! I better not be using their internet because I will inevitably go over their bandwidth usage! Wanna know how much it costs in data in this country to work from home for a technology company when your sole internet is tethering your phone for 10 days? Cuz I can tell you!

Eventually he came around but it was made pretty clear that if I made so much as a peep or affected his life in any way, he’d shit on our collective heads so I walked on eggshells the whole time and stayed in my room as much as possible. We tried but my mom and I just didn’t get along. It felt like she kept picking fights with me and food policing and gaslighting and it was pretty clear that this was not a healthy environment for me so while grateful for her help and shelter, I was greatly anticipating Alex’s return to Canada so I could go live with her instead.

I don’t want to seem like a shithead who doesn’t appreciate what her mother did for her, I don’t, at the end I was reluctant to leave her because I wasn’t sure if I was ready to adult by myself, but after about 10 days, finally Alex was home and we went to court and “custody” was transferred from my mom to Alex and it was just like fucking “hallelujah”.

Alex’s was better because she lived in the city closest to my house, my house that I could no longer go to because Blake lives there, but also closest to all of the mental health services I was going to need. Alex and her husband, Ronny, and I think her dad too, cleared out a room for me in the basement with a desk, a bed and a shelf. I had a mini fridge that I brought in and kept cheese, milk and Diet Coke in and I lived on that, cereal and peanut butter and banana sandwiches because I could make those in my room and didn’t have to go upstairs to the kitchen and have uncomfortable conversations with Alex’s dad, who I barely knew.  I also ate out with Ronny and Alex a lot, most specifically veggie sushi and tuna subs from Mr. Sub so I could get fresh protein and vegetables. I couldn’t keep a lot in my fridge because the temperature was wonky and it froze almost everything you put on the top shelf. It was the same fridge my grampa gave me when Madison was about a year old and my big fridge died and it was old then. No wonder it died like, 4 days before I ended up going home.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I was worried about staying at Alex’s, especially knowing that I’d be there for so long I mean, at the time it was August and the crown (Canadian District Attorney, works for da Queen) and my lawyer were talking about October. I was going to miss another summer. I was going to spend my summer in a strange basement, which is not the best place for me because one of the known things about my mental health is that my delicate butterfly moods do change, not with the weather as they say, but with the light. The less daylight I get per day, the more depressed I get, the more grey days in a row, the more suicidal the thoughts become. I have Seasonal Affective Disorder pretty terribly and even with a special lightbox, winters are hellacious and it’s because of the light. To combat this, we bought two lamps for the room with 100 watt full spectrum bulbs and I think they helped a lot. I still needed to go outside every few days, but I don’t think I was as affected by being in the basement as much as I was afraid I’d be.

Dealing with my mental health centre was a nightmare, but I did get a new shrink. Blake’s been managing my pills ever since I started taking pills because it’s been so complicated over the years and I am terrified of screwing them up or running out that it’s just safer for everyone if he does it. For 9 years, he has been calling both the mental health centre and the pharmacy to deal with pills, so when they were only dispensing me pills seven days at a time due to my suicide attempt and not communicating with him for reasons we still don’t even understand, it was problematic because I was living at my mom’s, an hour and a half away from my pharmacy and unable to get pills in my mom’s town because it was highly likely my mom would withhold my pills from me so I’d have no choice but to go get them myself, which is like giving me a mensa puzzle when I’m still on jigsaws, it’s timed, and the stakes are life or death. Despite the ‘no contact’ order, Blake was going to get my pills and bring them to my mom to give to me, until I could get transferred to Alex’s, and doing it every seven days – on multiple days – when I was so far away and not a suicide threat was asinine. And then the new shrink wouldn’t prescribe me my 2nd antidepressant, the one the prior shitty shrink told me to try going off of but if I couldn’t hack it to go back on it so two months prior to the suicide attempt, I had started taking 5mg of it daily. The hospital didn’t write it in their paperwork even though I was taking it there so I guess the mental health centre…didn’t believe me? Shitty shrink didn’t write it in my file? I’m not sure but for whatever reason, they wouldn’t believe Blake when he told them I needed it and when I left a message for the new shrink on their medline saying that I needed it, she didn’t prescribe it to me. So does that make ANY sense to you? Let’s deprive the depressed, displaced, suicidal girl going through legal hell of her antidepressant for no reason! *slow clap*

Rather than Blake just talking to the front desk, they tried to get a social nurse (whatever that is) and their director involved until I e-mailed the director and was just like, forget it, I guess I’ll go without my medication, make sure the paperwork for the mental health centre to talk to Blake about meds is there for me to sign when I see my new shrink in September.

Then trying to get the new shrink to write a proper letter for the courts as to my diagnoses and prognosis was like pulling teeth. I had to have my lawyer contact them, like for some reason they didn’t believe that this was real and that I actually had a lawyer and I could go to jail, and then Ronny had to drive me to their office 45 minutes away so I could sign another release form, get a copy of the letter and then come home, scan it and e-mail it to my lawyer within a span of about two hours or we wouldn’t have it in time for court.

The letter gave my history of mental illness and said that I would be seeing the new shrink for pharmacological monitoring but that I needed to seek a therapist or group therapy for more cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT), which I was already way ahead of because obviously this mental health centre had failed me over the course of the past year with the shrink they stuck me with, after my old one retired, not doing her fucking job leading to this exact predicament, so I knew I needed outside non-government help. I found an art therapist in the area who incorporates CBT into her practice and as of now I’ve already seen her five times. The letter from my shrink recommended four months of CBT every two weeks, which thankfully our insutrance covers 90% of because after paying for my internet while I was at my mom’s and the lawyer, and cutting my hours by 1/3 AND we need a new roof or we lose 1/3 of our house plus the furnace, we’re pretty screwed for a while. Woulda been cheaper to just do the floor.

So that basically brings me up to present. On Tuesday, October 13th I pled guilty to one count of mischief for breaking Blake’s guitar. I was given a conditional discharge, the conditions of which are that I do what my shrink said in her letter, report to a probation officer once a month for the next 11 months with a receipt from my art therapist and I have to pay $100 to a victim’s fund of some sort that I am happy to pay because I’ve seen it legit help people with my own eyes. That’s a fantastic use of my money. I have no criminal record and I have never been convicted of a crime. Blake signed a piece of paper at the probation office that broke the contact order so I’m back home now. I have two ombudsmen I can lodge complaints to regarding the lack of mental health training for OPP officers and the lack of mental health care I’ve received over the last year from the mental health centre I’ve been going to for nine years. Normally I’d be okay with getting away with my hide but we live in an area with a high incidence of mental illness because we’re a catchall community for one of the province’s largest psychiatric institutions and just a few years ago, a mentally ill man was shot in my town of 2000 people by an OPP officer. Maybe if that cop would have had mental health training the mentally ill man would have been tased instead and alive today. I mean, it just makes sense when they’re going to potentially be dealing with a higher incidence of mentally ill people that the police have some kind of mandatory training in dealing with them. That’s just the basics for knowing how to serve and protect a community, wouldn’t you think?

While I was gone, Blake tore up Madison’s carpet and underneath was fucking LINOLEUM! Practically impenetrable to cat urine! Then he took a class at Home Depot on how to install wood laminate flooring and with the help of the neighbour’s saw, Madison’s floor is pretty close to being finished and Wes is ready to move into the bigger room and then Blake’s going to put his office in Wes’ current bedroom. Wes wants his room to be orange but Blake “talked him into” a light blue room. I don’t see why it can’t be like, white on two walls and orange on the other two or something. He’s going to be in it for 6 more years, might as well make it his own.

As for Madison, we’re celebrating Thanksgiving this weekend and she’s “too busy” to come after not speaking to me since I tried to kill myself. She says she’s “punishing” me for what I “did” to Wes in trying to commit suicide, despite the  fact that everyone has told her that Wes and I are fine and Wes even asked her a long ago not to “punish” me on his behalf. I’ve reached out to her three or four times in the last two and a half months but nothing. She and Blake were the only people I said goodbye to when I decided to swallow the pills, Madison via Facebook messenger. She told Blake she thought I was just being melodramatic.  She’s “liked” three or four different things I’ve said or posted on Facebook so I know that not all is lost and she just needs her space right now.

A lot of you have probably been screaming the whole time, “WHAT ABOUT THE FUCKING CAT? Why didn’t you get rid of the cat?” and I ask you, dear reader, do YOU want her and can YOU promise me you’re going to give her a good life? We can’t take her to the shelter, they’re all kill shelters and the ones that aren’t only take strays. Who is going to adopt a cat at the end of her life who has a peeing problem? (Although we do think that if she lived in a house with no other pets she might actually be okay.) We can’t put her down, she’s mentally ill. *I* am mentally ill and I sure hope no one would euthanize me if I started peeing in undesirable areas. We offer this cat to everyone we meet, we even offer to pay people to take her with the agreement that we’ll take care of her financially for the rest of her life, but she just can’t live here. No takers. We’re willing to pay someone to take the cat AND fly her anywhere in Canada. Nope, not a one will take us up on the offer. We live in Northern-ish Ontario, she looks like she’s got the coat for it, but she can’t just become an outdoor cat. We got our first snow this morning.

I wish I could find her a cat sanctuary like the kind my friend Phaedie works for. Phaedie is this magical cat lady who works for RAPS (Richmond Animal Protection Society). She takes care of hundreds of cats every day, almost none of which are adoptable because they’re mostly strays and ferals. She tells me that sometimes, especially with ferals, some cats are just pissers. It’s just their nature. Not all cats are good cats. Pixel doesn’t even clean herself. What kind of cat doesn’t clean herself? A cat that just doesn’t cat right, that’s what kind and that’s the kind I’ve got and we have to do something about. I tried to kill myself, essentially because of this animal, it’s pretty literally her or me at this point. We’ve tried pheromone sprays, cat attracting cat litter, putting the litter boxes in every conceivable place, keeping every piece of minutiae off the floor and every single thing anyone has suggested we try. The only thing we haven’t tried because I think it’s pretty extreme to do to a 9 year old cat, is crate training. The fact of the matter is, she is never going to use a litter box in this house on any consistent basis. That is just a fact.

So, what do I do with this cat? How do I find her a place where she can live the rest of her life happy and at peace? How do I still honour the contract I entered when I told her as a kitten that I’d take care of her for the rest of her life, for better or for worse and not lose my shit completely? I don’t know, but if anyone else does, I’m all ears.

October 16, 2015

Best Thing Ever #2: “The Womanizer”

If you’ll recall, a while back I said that if I found anything I considered to be the best thing ever, I’d tell you all about it. The first Best Thing Ever was the Philips Wakeup Light, which I still use, and Best Thing Ever #2 is this lovely little gadget, “The Womanizer“. The greatest sex toy ever created with the absolute worst possible name.

So last night I wanted to go to the sex shop and buy whatever their best water based lube happened to be and then get sushi. We go to the sex shop with the intent to buy ONE pump bottle of good lube but when we got there, the store was in a bit of disarray compared to the last time I’d been there because maybe they were rearranging things for Halloween or stocking new products or under new management or whatever but the lubes were easy enough to find because they were at the front of the store and the dude who was stocking them showed me where to find toy friendly water based lubes in both the flavoured and unflavoured variety. To be perfectly honest, flavours never even occurred to me. Whatever, I don’t need 20 gallons of lube, so I grab the pump bottle of what he suggested (a gel, it’s Canadian and pretty nice, but they were out of “Fuck Water” which is a product made in my province and would have preferred) and I start my loop around the store, half assedly keeping an eye out for a specific toy that a camgirl I knew used to have that I always wanted to try. It was like, a vibrating wand with a little plastic or rubber circle on the end of it to go around your clit. I didn’t see anything like that so Blake asked me if I wanted him to ask the guy to help us and I said sure and next thing I know, Mr. British Accent is trying to sell me this $229.99 clit stimulator with the worst fucking name ever: The Womanizer.

At first I was just like, flat out, no way, because I’d just purchased a LELO which was pretty pricey and felt I had blown my sex toy budget for the year, but the more he got  talking the more it sounded like an interesting idea: a touchless orgasm. You heard me, TOUCHLESS.  When I told him how I couldn’t see the Womanizer doing anything to me that my LELO didn’t already he asked, “how would you know? Have you ever had a touchless orgasm before?” Hrm.

I told him we’d look it up on the internet and come to a conclusion, paid for our lube and went to get sushi (which actually ended up being BBQ ribs and butter chicken). The whole time we were gone from the sex shop I was thinking “we should go back and get that” except I knew I didn’t have enough money for it after buying the LELO. As we waited for our food, Blake said something like, “That Womanizer thing seemed pretty interesting,” to which I replied “yeah I’m REALLY interested in that” and the next thing you know, we were back at the sex shop going halvsies on one.

The one above is the exact colours I got, but had I have had more patience, I would have ordered from Amazon and got the blue one, which I think is cooler. If you’re in the US, click here. Also, not gonna lie, it’s $40 cheaper on Amazon Canada than the Stag Shop (Canadian sex shop), but for $13 I got the Stag Shop’s extended warranty which covers it for 2 years and even covers when it inevitably stops holding its charge. (Oh yeah, it’s rechargeable.)

Anyway, this is how you use it:

You lay down or sit down and relax, spread your legs and put the opening of the Womanizer’s suction cup lookin’ thing over your clitoris so it’s covered by it. The Womanizer makes this easier to do by glowing red in the dark if you press the power button and turn it on before applying it to your clit. Pressing the power button turns it on the lowest possible setting so you’re not notta have anything shocking hit your clit or anything. Then with your thumb, because they designed this thing pretty brilliantly for how you’d hold it, you can increase the pressure/vibrations 5 more times. Then you wait. Seriously. Lay there and wait and within 5 minutes you will have an intense orgasm that causes things to pulse and convulse. Hit the power button again to bring it back down instantly to the lowest setting which lulls your clit back into a warm, nice place and then wait another minute or two, then turn the setting back up with your thumb and within 3 minutes you’ll have your 2nd Earth shattering orgasm.  Repeat until you’re spent!

Clean up is SO SO SO easy. You just pop off the suction cup part and clean it with soap and water, dry it off and replace. It fits in your hand so it’s discrete. Nothing worse than having to walk down the hallway carrying a Fist of Adonis to the bathroom and getting busted by one of your kids. (Kidding! Sort of….)

So that was last night. Last night I used it with a dob of lube on my clit figuring it would be necessary but it  really isn’t, and I had 3 orgasms. This afternoon I used The Womanizer without lube and had around 8 or 9 orgasms in about 15 minutes. I finally feel like my multiorgasmic self who ISN’T sexually gimped by antidepressants! Hooray!

Also the orgasms are somehow deeper with The Womanizer than any traditional clitoral vibe I’ve used. It really is touchless. There’s a teeny tiny bit of suction, but it’s not a suction device. It’s a vibration device but what’s vibrating is the air WITHIN the suction cup part, like when you put your hand up to a subwoofer and feel the air in front of it pulsating. The Womanizer is very similar.

Anyway, I can’t possibly imagine buying another clitoral device again. There’s no point, this one is perfect! Now if only we could get them to rename it…

THE END.

September 29, 2015

SUNNY IS CREATING COLOURING PAGES!

Become a level 2 patron on Patreon and get access to all of these, plus two new colouring pages every month! Please consider supporting me while I spend the next year focusing on some serious mental health issues while working on my theoretical adult colouring book! It would be greatly appreciated! Thank you!

Posted at 1:19 pm in: Art , cam culture , camgirls , Colouring Book , Fall , Internet , Life , Money , Patreon , social networking , SRS BSNS
November 6, 2014

Yeah, I’d rather be a hippy than a hipster, what!?

Well, I *was* gonna show you a picture of this cool, old, US army truck that’s parked like a sculpture near my house but my gallery program doesn’t seem to want me to upload anything to it for some reason so I guess I’ll have to get Blake to take a look at that later to see why it’s not doing what I need it to do. Whatever, imgur for the time being. Behold, this awesome truck that I love so much I actually pulled over and trespassed on this person’s lawn/field to show you, which, for someone undergoing immersion therapy, is sort of a big deal.

I submitted a painting or, probably more aptly, a mixed media assemblage to Touched By Fire but I don’t think I got in because they originally said we should be notified by November 3rd if we did and I haven’t heard anything. That was before they extended the deadline until October 31st though so who knows? The piece I made was the biggest size they allowed so I knew my chances of getting in were pretty slim, especially when submitting so late in the game. Doesn’t matter though because I like what I made (but think I could have done better, of course) and it lead to two BIGGER ideas that I’m completely in love with and in the process of trying to make happen. The first part is waiting at least 3 weeks for samples because this shit is srs bsns, and within that 3 weeks, coming up with a solid budget which has been a lot harder to pin down than I originally thought it’d be. I’ve never spent this much money on an art project before though so I’m trying to be as accurate and frugal as possible but I’m dealing with wholesale minimum orders that I’ll only be able to meet ONCE so if I’m short on what I need, I’m screwed and I am THE WORST at math. I’ve asked many people to help me with the math and of the 15 or so answers I’ve gotten, including on Reddit, they’ve all been different. Vastly in some instances. I figure Reddit’s answer is probably the best jumping off point because if the ONLY DUDE THAT ANSWERED ME was wrong, he would have been downvoted or some other dude would have come in with a bigger dick to tell him he was wrong. Anyway, it’s been challenging but I’m pretty obsessed with making it happen one way or another, it’s just the “one way or another” I’m still figuring out.

I met my new shrinks on Monday. Yeah, shrinkS. Plural. I’m so lucky, I get two. The main one, we’ll call her Murphy Brown, immediately wanted to switch me from side-effect-free ziprasidone/Zeldox – my main anti-psychotic, the foundation of my mental health pyramid – with Abilify for no reason whatsoever that I can see except maybe she wants me to gain 30 lbs, which is just the tip of the iceberg with that drug. Fuck that and fuck her. It took me MANY YEARS of trial and error and metabolic syndrome, that outweighed any mental benefit of any drug, to find the right meds and right now I’m maintaining so fuck the fuck right off. I don’t have a nickname for the other shrink yet and she’s a doctor but not a full doctor and still in training or something? She looks about my age. I told them that S.A.D. has started kicking in, meaning that “we may need to go up by half a pill on my cipralex” at some point like my prior doctor said we may have to do and it’s not like this shit doesn’t happen EVERY SINGLE YEAR LIKE CLOCKWORK OR ANYTHING. I asked to borrow a lightbox, I’m going to use it – again, please fuck off with your bulldozer parked so close to my crystal castle.

So that’s how that went. I see the shrink-in-training in 3 weeks. I have no idea why or what I said to necessitate that. Hooray. Thrilled, I am, to have the privilege of answering 50 more random, nosey, irrelevant questions. Oh, that’s another thing, Murphy Brown suggested I stop drinking Diet Coke because it’s “SO MUCH CAFFEINE” and she said if I didn’t believe her I could look it up. Well. I did. When I got home. According to the fucking Mayo Clinic, a cup of coffee has 95-200mg of caffeine and a can of Diet Coke has 23-47mg which means that I consume on average the same amount of caffeine in a day as one cup of coffee, so again, I tell you, Murphy Brown please go fuck yourself.

I’ll stop now. Needless to say, the first visit was not a positive one despite the fact that I went in there with nothing but positivity because life’s going pretty good and good things are happening.

Like I said a while back, I’ve been working a lot. I now work 7-9 hours/day as opposed to 3. I’m still training people. Working all these new hours has enabled me to do something I’ve never done before: paid off my Visa. Then as soon as the final payment cleared, I immediately maxed it out by buying myself and Blake plane tickets to go to San Francisco for my birthday. Why San Francisco? Because Steph the Geek is there in her 20 Mission hippie commune. Because Sapphire is there. Because my friends Kat, Sarah, Quelyn and Erica are there. Blake’s sisters and nieces (whom he’s never even met) are close by in Tahoe. And it’s a medical state. With weird food we can’t get here. And it’s my birthday. So that’s why.

The plan is pretty simple: we’re gonna rent a place in the Mission District using airbnb with (ideally) 2 desks or work surfaces and a kitchen, that has a backyard or courtyard and we’re going to order crazy fruit and organic meat from this website Steph uses and basically just hang out with whoever and each other. Blake’s going to work on his book and I’m sure I’ll find a way to entertain myself.  We’re also going to rent a car and go to Tahoe. Not sure if that’s going to be an overnight thing or not at this point though. On the actual day of my birth we’re trying to have some sort of get-together with everyone…somewhere, because we’ll be leaving for home the next day. I don’t care about Alcatraz or the bridge. I would like to see some painted ladies. I wouldn’t mind seeing the other ocean. omg will there be tidepools? I’ve never seen a real starfish. I dunno, I just figured by the end of February I’ll probably be wanting to slit my wrists so somewhere sunny and warm (to me) with some of my closest friends seemed like a good idea since I suddenly realized it was a viable goal. And I realize I’m now in debt again, but it won’t take too long to pay off and I was pretty proud of myself for essentially saving up all of the money to do this. Or at least take the first step and order the plane tickets.

I have to figure out how to carry-on both my laptop and my camera because everything I’ve ever read/heard has said not to pack them in your luggage. Hrm. I dunno about this traveling stuff.

This week the new Anne Rice book came out AND the new Mother Mother album did too, so honestly, it’s been a pretty good week. Cried a little this morning, convinced that it was going to be a bad day, but it wasn’t. I also got the Lena Dunham book to read for myself, with context, what happened with her sister rather than rely on sentence fragments and the one excerpt the media’s been primarily focusing on to come up with my own opinion. My friend Tay also mentioned that Lena Dunham’s also said some racist things in the media about why there are so few minorities on Girls, which I guess I missed. I follow her on Twitter but like, as much as I follow any celebrity, which means I only read like, maybe 1/10 of her tweets. Anyway, I was interested in her book before all this but when I went to get the Anne Rice book, the Dunham book was only $20 and there was one copy left, so I was like, “fuck it” and added it to my pile, which also included Gone Girl, High Times and a magazine called Canadian Art that looked interesting.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANYWAY, it’s time to take my PM meds, find food, watch American Horror Story and go to bed. Peace oot, y’all.

September 26, 2014

NOW TAKING INTERESTING COMMISSIONS.

I have had a blank WordPress page open since like, the 18th, with this title. And I haven’t posted anything with this title or written the post that was to go along with this title because I’m not sure commissions are ever a good idea. For me, anyway. Either other people’s ideas don’t inspire me or the deadline aspect gives me diarrhea or (often) I’m not in love with the finished product because I see every imperfection and then I feel guilty taking people’s money. When I’m painting normally, I just paint what’s in my head and if there are imperfections, they’re part of the piece and it’s sold “as is”. Done, chuck it on Etsy. Next! But with a commission, I feel the client is expecting perfection and if they’re not they SHOULD BE because I would, so that’s what I feel I need to deliver no matter how unrealistic that may be.

Right now, though, I ain’t makin’ nothin’ and I only have these vague threads of ideas wafting through my head like the ghostly echoes of the whispers of creativity. The last painting I did was this one, last November. And right now all I do is work. Even when I’m not working, I’m actually still really working and I need to do less of that. A couple of weekends ago, I made an oldschool fan sign for a camgirl I like and I pretty much did it because I had 48 virgin Sharpies, a whole bunch of Bristol board and just wanted to do something – anything – creative while Blake and I finished watching Defiance. Cuz that’s what I do. I make stuff. I watch TV and I make stuff. It is what I’ve always done and probably what I will always do.

I have a ton of creative “shoulds” that are lingering about, things I either started or bought the stuff for. I mean, my god, there has to be at least one million ideas within the 6 x 7.5 foot cubicle I inhabit 17.5 hours out of every day, you would think it would be as simple as picking one and following through, but it’s not and it’s not because all of those ideas to me are old ideas. Stale ideas. No one’s ever seen or heard or been told about them or know they exist, but they’re so complete in my head and the process by which to execute them is so…I don’t want to say “easy” because I don’t want to imply that what I do is easy – it’s not. But definitely unchallenging and I’m probably not going to be surprised by the end result. More than anything I just wanna make shit and the only way I can justify putting in the time or money is if someone else wants it. If there’s a reason for making it.

I’m good at “cut & paste”. When I was in kindergarten or grade 1, there were “stations” in my classroom and one of these stations was “cut & paste” and it was THE BEST station because that was where you could always make the best stuff. I’ve always had a mild interest in various clay mediums and thought the dough station was 2nd best, but as a grown-up I don’t know the science behind making clays do what I want them to do permanently and they’re expensive so I’ve always just stuck to paint, paper, glitter & glue. And like I said, I have these almost tangible wispy ideas as I type this and mentally catalogue all of the “stuff” I have to make other stuff out of, but nothing solid takes shape. And right now I even have money that I could buy all kinds of NEW stuff to make stuff out of but I think that’s a complete waste unless the idea’s really good.

And as if by some cosmic joke, I literally just got the call for entries to Touched By Fire, the art show THEY say you have to be crazy to enter because it’s for artists with mood disorders, but I call it the remedial art show pretty much just because it’s like the Special Olympics of art and I’ve ridden that shortbus all the way to Crazytown a few times so I can make fun of it if I want to. This year it’s being held at the Steamwhistle gallery (which is in a brewery, I think) and the theme is “unspoken” and as I write this, about to make fun of it mercilessly, an idea appears….hmmmm….HMMMMMMMMM I SAY. And the more I think about it, the better it issssssssssssssssss…..oh look at that, 250 empty vegan gel caps and a box of o.b. tampons ordered off the internet. The deadline is in 28 days soooooooo I guess it’s problem solved and game on!

PS. Before I kill myself designing them, would anyone be interested in Xmas ornaments of my girls from Zazzle?  Here are the shapes. I figure I’d price them between $25-$20, depending on which type everyone preferred, if any. Lemme know!

September 17, 2014

I was not a cool kid. I was a ghost.

I work a lot. That’s what I’ve been doing. My grama died in July, my shrink retired in August and just as life was normalizing, I asked for extra hours at work now that I have a car (which I got)  but we also hired 3 new people which means working overtime to train them. On top of that, a couple of Sundays ago, when I was in Militiagan for a wedding (more on that later), my boss messaged me on AIM and asked if she could have a word with me, freaking me out completely  at first because I thought I fucked something up and I hadn’t worked since that Friday morning so for it to have cropped up now, I figured it must be something pretty bad that she’d spent time talking to other people about. I wasn’t far off the mark about her talking to other people, but it wasn’t anything bad. She told me that there was one aspect of our job (our job is not just e-mail, it’s many things) that she thought I did a really good job at and she wanted me to sort of be like, the expert/final decision-maker/manager of this one thing. So that was really cool and I felt really good about myself (although part of me is terrified that she only thinks I suck the least at this thing because I also probably do it the least and now that I’m doing it MORE my fuck up rate is going to go up too). She told me that this would take effect immediately and it would mean that my workload would increase but that was okay because she gave me 9 extra hours per week that she wanted dedicated to this task. BUT I’m training and I can’t train people unless another senior person is working with me (or it’s really difficult to) because while training, it takes at least 10 times longer to get the work done than if I was doing it by myself so even with help, I fall behind on my regular tasks and I don’t have time during my regular shift to do my new task the way I think it’s supposed to be done so that means staying an hour-hour & a half past the time I’m done training, which was overtime to begin with. (Why, yes I *am* proud of that run-on sentence…) In a span of about 6 weeks, I went from working 3 hours a day to 7 minimum, which may not seem like a lot to people who work the standard 40 hours a week but for me that’s a lot.

Having said all that, honestly? Mostly I’m having FUN. I’m being CHALLENGED. I imagine this is what it feels like when people who like working out work out. All 3 new hires are personal friends of mine and I thought it was already pretty sweet working with the group I do because we’re all friends outside of work as well. I mean, I’m getting paid to hang out with my friends on Skype all morning in my pajamas and tell them about the job I love WHICH I NEVER GET TO DO WITH ANYONE BUT BLAKE and he only understands like, 75% of what I bother telling him. (Better than the 5% of his job that I understand, however.) Due to the nature of what we do, who we do it for and who we do it with, we’re just supposed to talk about our jobs as little as possible outside of the company which suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucks because our jobs are ridiculously interesting (to me), so it’s awesome to finally be able to be like “WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! PORNO PORNO PORNO!!! XXX!!!” while listening to 80s & 90s rap at 9am. (That is the soundtrack of Sunny’s Porn School.)

My work day still starts at 5am though and doesn’t usually “end” (*cough*at all*cough*) now until, well, 2:30pm for me today. And to compensate for having to be “on” and a fully functional cyborg that early, for that long, I’ve been trying to go to sleep around 7:30 or 8pm so right now it feels like all I do is work, talk about work, talk to work friends, hang out at the site I work for and go to sleep tired as fuck, but I guess I’ve done more than that. Not much more, though.

Like I said earlier, we went to a wedding a couple of weeks ago in Militiagan for Blake’s cousin Helena and fiance Bill, which isn’t his real name. His real name is something super Albanian and unpronounceable so I guess they just call him Bill. They’ve known each other since they were 14 and now they’re 30, so that’s sort of cool. The ceremony was crazy religious and almost entirely sung. There was incense involved, which the priest did at Blake’s grama’s funeral too and I thought was cool and I tried to get video of it but the priest is actually like, this HUGE conservative guy who frowns upon anything newer than last century and there were a couple of signs saying “no cell phones” but Blake’s Aunt Pat was inconspicuously taking pics beside me with hers so I got a short clip of the dude on Instagram but not what I wanted. Oh well, so not the point….anyway, during the ceremony they blessed this and that and the President (no shit) three times, in English AND Albanian, all while singing a call and return with the priest and some lady and his incense shaker had bells on it and made clanging sounds and the whole thing seemed to me like he was trying to get God’s attention for a sec and get him to bless the marriage. There was some heavy old school bare foot and pregnant shit in the vows, but what I noticed in the ceremony is that the priest STARTED with, “do you take this man to be your…?” etc and they did their “I do’s” FIRST so everything after that they technically didn’t agree to in any legally binding way (not that a wedding is “legally” binding, but y’know, if this was a deal with the Devil they could get out of it on a technicality by traditional mythological standards).

I’m not going to post what I wore because I think I looked like crap. I also think me and Blake’s step-monster were the only blondes at the whole event.

At the reception, we got sat at the “cousin table” (and not with Blake’s dad and his bitchfaced wife, who got stuck sitting beside the priest all night heh) and I got to meet all of Blake’s Albanian cousins who have all grown up and have since left Albania for greater things, I guess. Blake’s cousin Shirley is a dentist living with a dude named Stiig who’s an engineer for Rolls Royce in Norway. Blake’s cousin Nonda and his wife Eva live in NY and have two little kids. They met in Albania and came over a while ago. Blake’s cousin Livvy is like, an international free spirit party girl type who lives somewhere in Europe too but I forget where. I wanna say Prague? Not sure.

What kills me about Blake’s Albanian family is like HOW into family they are. It’s so weird to me because my family isn’t like that at all. It’s hard to explain, but like, Blake just met these people for the first time since he went to Albania when I think he was 18 and they were weirdly close considering I’d never heard of these people before that day and I’m pretty sure this was only Blake’s second time meeting them in person. I’m pretty sure you could ask a favour from practically anyone in the room and they would oblige just because you were related and vice versa. There was a lot of hugging and picture taking like, with people who barely knew each other but they were related so HEY LET’S TAKE A PICTURE! NOW LET’S TAKE THE EXACT SAME PICTURE WITH 5 MORE CAMERAS FROM 5 MORE STRANGERS! It was weeeeeeeeeeeeeeird, man. Weird. It was the biggest display of pronoia in action I think I’ve ever seen. Just a whole lotta people conspiring toward good things for a whole lotta other people simply because they’re related somehow.

My family is more…strategic, political, hostile, a little phony and now, extremely small. Almost non-existent. And I don’t foresee that changing any time soon. God, honestly I’m not even sure I have the energy to have it any other way, so whatever. I haven’t talked to my brother since my grama’s funeral because I don’t know what to say to him. I’ve exchanged 2 e-mails with my mom, pretty much the same thing.

At the end of the wedding, there was a coney bar set up because when Blake’s grampa came to America, he opened a coney dog restaurant called George’s Famous Coney Island and this restaurant was the foundation for just about everything in that ballroom. I thought that was pretty neat even though we left before it got set up.

Other than that, the only thing I have to report is that I broke down and bought Sims 4 even though I had initially decided not to get it because I’d heard nothing but bad things about what WASN’T going to be included, but I was bored and I’m a sucker so I downloaded it and while I’ve only had a chance to play it three times, I think I like it. It’s VERY bare bones, a lot like OG Sims, and I kinda like that because the complexity of Sims 3 got so ridiculous with all the expansions that I lost interest in it a long time ago. The emotions system combines with the Sims’ needs, so for example, if my Sim is angry or tense (emotion) AND has to go to the bathroom (need), the interaction “take an angry poop” appears. “Wants” contribute to emotions. Anyway, I’m having fun with it so far and I have high hopes for future expansions.

Annnnnd I’m tired and have to go to bed soooooo peace oot. *yawn*

November 23, 2013

Great article on creatives.

Why Creative People Sometimes Make No Sense

1. Me.
2. I dunno. Probably me. I think I’m definitely equal parts smart and stupid. Maybe I’m smart like a fox… ;o)
3. Me.
4. Used to be me. Now I think I’m a little jaded. Workin’ on that.
5. I’m an agoraphobic person whose life is laid out on the internet.
6. Mmm, I dunno. I have a hard time with the word “pride”. On the same token, I have a hard time with being unappreciated and I think that’s probably tied to what would be my warped sense of pride.
7. I don’t think I’m very traditional or conservative. I can’t think of any examples of me being either one, anyway.
8. Yep.
9. Creating is literally my favourite thing and you can do it anywhere, with anything.

Anyway, I thought it was a good article so I thought I’d share.

PS. It’s snowing. We’re supposed to get like, a foot today and more tomorrow. I’m callin’ it “winter”.

Posted at 2:54 pm in: Art , Creativity , DIY , Fall , Misc. , winter
November 12, 2013

The Trophy Wives of the Astronauts

This is awesome:

In other music news, I downloaded M.I.A.’s latest effort yesterday and sat with it until this afternoon, and I can’t say as a whole I like it all that much. “Bad Girls” is a good song but it’s pretty old by now and it’s been in TV shows (The Mindy Project comes to mind) and it’s just been on my playlist for long enough to almost be annoying. (Almost.) Only “Matangi”, the title track, and “Double Bubble Trouble” made it into regular rotation. That’s what I took away from it. As a whole it was just not my thing but since I’m sick of everything else I have, I’ll probably listen to it in the mornings while I’m working.

Work today was interesting because I worked my shift, slept for 2 hours, then worked someone else’s shift. By the end of it I didn’t know what to do with myself. Normally I have an issue doing anything fun because I haven’t been productive enough but today I was SO productive that I couldn’t think of anything fun that would be equivalent to it so I just hung out at Camwhores and then the kids came home and now I’m writing this in the time it takes Blake to get from his office in the city to the grocery store to home.

Madison left these pictures in frames on my desk this morning with a note saying that she found them in a cupboard and “doesn’t grama look SO young! (and I guess I do too! :oP)” so while I was chatting on Camwhores, I was taking pictures of the pictures because I couldn’t get the scanner to work. Then I posted  them on Facebook and my brother said he’s going to text me with more pics that are apparently of us from when we went to the cottage. I haven’t seen these so I’m a little excited. :oD

This is five generations of Crittendens.
My great grama Crittenden, her son (my grampa), mom, me & Chad, Madison.
There’s another version of this with us all sticking out our tongues but I can’t find my copy.

This is obviously my brother and me.
Probably circa 1998 (same as the pic above) judging by the hat.

Anyway, I’d forgotten about these pics so I was happy Madison had found them. Why she was looking in the cupboard where there were is a mystery but my money’s on looking for Xmas presents…

The only other thing really happening in my life is Project A and Project B.

Project A is my Secret Satan present, which obviously I can’t post about because it’s SECRET.

Project B is probably going to end up being an Xmas present so I can’t post about that either because the person it’s for is probably reading this.

I mean, other than that, I work, I sleep, I spend my mornings on Camwhores, I make things all day; Blake comes home, we make food, we watch Sam & Dean (I think we’re in the middle of season 7 right now), I go to bed. Repeat. That is more or less life right now.

I took pics of Madison, at her request, last week or the week before and they’re still on the camera. I want to take pics of her with her hair how it is right now because it’s super dyed right now. Maybe tomorrow, it’s almost dark right now.

So yeah…I’ll edit those and post them when I get around to it. PEACE.

November 8, 2013

Flotter plus, bouvillon moins?

This blog post is 2 years old and I’m pretty sure I’ve posted it on my site before, but I know for a  fact I posted it other places so some of you may have already read it. If not, read it, then come back here.

But my first wish is that you’d wake up and start steering your life toward where you want to be.” – Joe Peacock

But what if you have absolutely zero idea as to where you want to be? I have literally ZERO life goals right now for probably the first time in my life. I can’t think of a single one. Not even one. Oh, “don’t die”. That’s about it.

My job is my job, I don’t love it or hate it (but I do think I’m good at it and I’m grateful to have it) but there’s no room for advancement so there’s no life goals to be had there.

I make paintings “whenever I feel like it” or whenever I’m inspired. You can’t make a business plan around that. Furthermore, I haven’t sold a single solitary painting since November 19th of LAST YEAR. (Thanks, Robin.)

I’ve pretty much decided I’ll never be a full-time nor long distance driver ever again. I’ll drive to the grocery store and the post office by myself and maybe even to the Wal*Mart or dollar store in Wasaga Beach if Madison’s with me, but that’s IT. I know I have the ability of driving longer distances, on busier roads, at faster speeds but even with Blake right beside me, telling me what to do and after taking all the Klonopin and Ativan available to me, I still spend the entire time in the driver’s seat crying, gripping the steering wheel so hard with both hands* that my nails go right around it and dig into the fleshy part of my hand and all I can think of is “when is this going to be over? When do I get to be done? How long do I have to do this to be able to say that I tried and then have no one bug me about it for a while? Or hopefully ever?” Maybe I’d feel differently if we had 2 cars, but we don’t and if I crash the one we have, we’re pretty fucked. Also? Over the last 2 & a half years, I have been through MEDICAL HELL and the last thing – the very very very last thing – I want to go through is another medical trauma as a result of my own shitty driving or my delayed reaction time when it comes to someone else’s.

I. Hate. Driving. I cannot handle the stress and responsibility and truthfully, I don’t remember 75% of the rules of the road. I got my licence when I was 20, after taking Young Drivers (Canadian driver’s ed that gives you a discount on your insurance) and drove to Toronto for school almost every single day for 2 years. But 2 years driving experience is NOTHING!  It’s not even a “blip!” in the grand scheme of my life. Might as well forget that ever happened. I’ll keep renewing my licence in case I ever change my mind but I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately and I just think I’m done. It is literally the most stressful realistic situation I can think of. The whole time I’m just in sheer panic and all I want to do is close my eyes and pretend to be somewhere else…but that would get me killed.

I’ve hit a brick wall with photography. I no longer want to have a photography business. I just don’t like my pictures. I didn’t take a single picture with my DSLR in all of September, only once in October and those were just snapshots and then Madison wanted me to take pictures of her after school today but just looking at the previews on the camera, I don’t think any of them are worth posting, let alone printing. The whole reason I liked photography was because I could document things but we never do anything worth documenting and the kids were my inspiration, Madison in particular, but she’s got some body issues happening and she just doesn’t want me taking her picture these days (yet she’ll sit at my desk where the light’s better and take “selfies” with her iPod for hours) so I’ve stopped asking. I’ve just put the camera away on a hook behind a door with no real plans to pick it up again any time soon.

I have not and will not be applying for an Ontario Arts Council grant this year. I thought I was going to, I’d planned on it, but when I looked at my body of photography work so far, I was too embarrassed to send any of the pictures in and I was going to be applying as an “emerging artist” for money to go toward a photography project I’d really like to do. The bulk of the money was going to be spent paying a part-time female assistant with a car. (For this project, it needs to be a woman.) The rest was going to be used to purchase lights and pay for gas. I am 95% confident that I could execute this project successfully if given the funds to do it but I don’t think I can convince the OAC of that by my shitty sample pictures that are basically only of my kids, my husband and my pets. I’m completely uninspired by my surroundings. I thought about shooting some pics to specifically use as my sample pics but there’s just not a whole lot that’s interesting to me around here. I’m sort of at the point where I dread taking out the camera because I’m either ultimately not going to end up doing anything with it except to put it back and I’m not going to like the pictures I take so it’s just going to frustrate me and make me sad.

The application deadline is December 1st so I have a bit of time, but I still don’t think I’m going to bother applying. They’ve already rejected me 4 years in a row as a painter, I think largely due to the fact that I have like, no exhibition record. I’ve been in Touched By Fire 3 times and I suppose I could add the studio tour to the list since I EXHIBITED lots yet sold nothing, but still, that’s painting. My photography idea will never happen. :o/ Anyone got $5k laying around that they don’t need? I’ve thought about maybe doing a Kickstarter type of thing but I can’t think of incentives, aside from prints, and what is the final goal? If I say my final goal is to show these pictures in a gallery, people aren’t going to give me money because photographs in a gallery do most people no good. There’s no benefit. A book? But how many pictures would I need to fill a whole book? Because the pictures I want to take are super tricky, semi-illegal (trespassing), and it’s gonna take a slick-talking assistant to get “models” (who are actually just random, normal women) to do what I need them to do and where.

Cryptic, I know, but this idea is my baby and I would be absolutely devastated if someone stole it. I’m so protective of this idea that I can’t even ask any photographers for advice because when it comes to ideas, I don’t trust anyone. Especially photographers.

So yeah, I just don’t know up from down these days. Every day is grey. All my plans for this year and next have disintegrated.

As I posted about previously, I didn’t submit anything to Touched By Fire because the whole thing was a clusterfuck from the beginning. First there were $20 submission fees, which counted me out. Secondly, they’ve switched domains inexplicably from touchedbyfire.CA to touchedbyfire.CO. This is suspect to me. THEN they got a sponsor (Deserres) who agreed to cover the submission fees which is fine but at that point they didn’t even have a venue. So long story short, I did not submit. I didn’t feel I had anything to submit to an art show that prides itself on showcasing how fucked up all us mental patients are. My glitter girls are happy. They don’t want happy, they want tortured, mentally ill people and they want their work to reflect that. So fuck it. Who needs a remedial art show anyway? OH! That was the other thing I wanted to mention. Tickets to get into the event? $20 per person. Isn’t that fucking ridiculous? Every other year it’s either been free or $10, so wtf.

I’m lost. I have no direction. Every grey day is the same. I do nothing. I have nothing. I am nothing.

PS. Feel free to head on down to Sunnyland Studio to see what I’ve got in the shop. Unfortunately the Xmas season is upon us…

(*I have never EVER and would not EVER drive with less then two hands on the wheel. 10 and 2, people. The only time my hand MAY leave the steering wheel for 10 seconds is if I’m getting a drink from a BOTTLE because with cans, you have to take your eyes off the road to look at the can and make sure you turn it around so you can actually drink out of it. This is too complicated and for me, too dangerous, so bottles all the way.)

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