Allow me to introduce you to Jeff the Troll. Say "Hi", Jeff.
Fee-fi-fo-fum
I'mma about to fuck up your day.
Jeff's lives in my stomach and he's a real asshole. I have often described my upset tummies as "an angry monster trying to claw its way out" and here he is, in stunning blue glory. The fucker. All this time I thought I had a sensitive stomach or was, perhaps, a bit "high-maintenance" when it came to food. Nope. Troll.
Colleen told me to google "melted crayon art", so that's what I did. I do what my friends tell me. They're smart. And pretty. And have great hair.
Melty goodness.
I thought it'd be a fun project for me and my nieces to do together, but Sarah and I basically took it over, pushing the kids out of the way when they messed with our crayon arrangement. WE HAVE A VERY SPECIFIC STRATEGY, CHILDREN. YOU'RE RUINING EVERYTHING.
I follow directions good.
Lydia did help a little.
White crayons are the tastiest of the crayons.
The color scheming and gluing were the easy bits. The next part got a little, um, hot and boring.
The family that melts together, stays together.
First drips. Hallelujah.
About 15 or 20 minutes into this, our expressions say it all.
Lydia: Why are we doing this? It's hot as shit in here. I'm over it. Give me a banana.
I don't know how you're supposed to blow dry this stuff and not have it spray everywhere. But I like the effect, so I'm choosing to pretend I did it on purpose.
... though I guess saying that here just gave it away. Hmph.
Crayon says, "I will not blow in straight lines."
Still, overall it was a fun venture. It took us about an hour all said and done and Penny squealed with delight when she left the room saw the finished product.
My flowers lost all of their color.
You cut me open and keep bleeding, keep keep bleeding love...
My darlin' friend, Jennie, turned 30-Fabulous this week. I drew a number of delightful, charming pictures in my favorite medium, Paint, and hung them around her office. My favorite, by far, was the Birthday Narwhal. Does the Birthday Narwhal exist outside of my special, happy place? I don't know. You have to decide that for yourself. Look inside; what's in your heart?
For me, on that particular day, he was in my heart and needed, nay, demanded, to be expressed in colorful, artistic pixels. Narwhal or bust, you might say.
The Birthday Narwhal is happy you were born.
My inspiration:
Curious about that long unicorn-like horn (narwhalcorn?) sticking out of its head? That's a tooth, my friends. Yes, an inscisor tooth. I know, right? What the fuck? Little evolutionary misstep, perhaps? Darwin? Hello? Anyone?
According to the Wikipedia, the most widely accepted theory is that it's a "secondary sexual characteristic." They help the dude narwhals maintain dominance or "help young males develop skills necessary for performance in adult sexual roles."
Father: "Ok, son, you take *this* and you stick it *here*. That's all you'll ever need to know." Every woman ever: "Um, actually..."
Scientists also liken the tooth the tail feather display of the male peacock.
Just take that ass to the floor
Pop something move something
Shake ya tail feather, girl go and take it low
Yeah, you shake those tail feathers, Birthday Narwhal. Shake 'em.
My sister sent me the owl picture below -- just a little project she's working on. This is the original; I've yet to see her avian interpretation. Supposedly she's been sooo busy studying Psychology and Biology at William & Mary, working, volunteering, participating in under-aged drinking, etc. Sounds like a string of excuses to yours truly. Draw the shit already, woman! (Ha ha. "Woman". She will forever my 'little' sister, dressed in pink tutus, flitting around the house.)
Just a bunch of stripey tube shapes and some shading. Whatevs.
Always in search of ideas, I took a crack at it myself. With the expected results.
Spot. On.
I also, um, traced it. A little bit. And by a little bit I mean all of it.
Today was a bit of an odd day. I was at work for around 15 hours. Fifteen. I counted. I even used my fingers because I thought for sure I was wrong (math hard), but nope. Fifteen. I was creative at work today but I can't share it on here, so instead, here are some pretty flowers.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I am very tired
Jennie's lovely BF sent her these flowers today. (Is it ok to call a man "lovely"?) She wasn't there to pick them up from the front desk this evening, so I grabbed them for her and brought them safely to my her office. I had to cancel my own V-Day date to be responsible an' shit, so I had a bag of chips and an orange for dinner. Shockingly, I am still hungry.
Figured I'd work off that crap "meal" at my volunteer shenanigans... where I saw this:
Sure is a lot of space on this table.
WHERE'S MY GIFT BAG!? I VOLUNTEER SO I'LL GET FREE SHIT! FUCK YOU, CUPID.
(Actually, that's not true at all; I volunteer so I can lord it over other people and feel superior.)
My creative juices were flowing on Saturday (why does "juices" sound like such a dirty word? ...Or is that just me? Also, moist. Heh.). I started working on tattoo number ten. Ten! Eep! I'm designing my own book plate, getting them printed, then tattooed on my person.
Here's an example of a book plate,
if you don't feel like clicking the link up there.
Mine will be much more detailed and awesomer (and will not have my name on it. Why do people tattoo their names on themselves? I've never understood that trend. I'm not saying all mine a winners, but I feel pretty confident that I'll remember my name without having it permanently etched somewhere.) and will have very specific elements that are either symbolic to me or simply make me happy. (I'm all about the happy.) I started sketching the design and shit, looking at it now, my tattoo artist, Andrew Conner, won't have to do much work to do; I've basically done it all for him.
This will be my most beautiful tattoo yet.
In addition to that masterpiece up there, Katie and I dressed Colleen for her night out. She was pretty before we got started, but we helped bump her up a notch or two.
Those boots...
She returned the favor by giving me new hair. Spectacular new, blue hair.
I have hitherto been very remiss in updating this blog o' mine. Where do I even begin? I recovered quite nicely from the dental torture of last week and had a fabulous weekend filled with fabulous people.
Friday, I played with guns. I was surprised to find myself tense and jumpy when we first got started. I handled weapons (well, *a* weapon) in the military, but that was many (many) (many) moons ago. After shooting a dozen or so rounds with the Sig Sauer 9MM pistol, I decided it wasn't the hobby for me and was content to watch everyone else ... until Sean convinced me to try a different gun.
Holy Thunderous .357 Magnum, Batman!
That thing was intense. And loud, so very loud. I felt like a sock star. A gun-wielding, awkward, giggly rock star. (For those nit-picky grammarians out there (*cough* Kristy *cough*) I do realize I just called myself a "sock star", but given one of my, um, more unique traits, I though it was apropos.)
My creative attempt for the day was to make a smiley face on my target (what else would I make?). My accuracy is to be envied by gun enthusiasts everywhere.
Happy, happy, happy.
What do you mean you can't see it? Seriously? It's so obvious, but here, I'll help you out...
Just play along.
Once again, three cheers for Meredith (for being born) and Sean (for organizing and making bulls eye cupcakes).
I went to the see the dentist this morning. I didn't enjoy it. In fact, I feel pretty strongly that I am deserving of a cupcake after facing the trauma, horror and injustice of time spent in the Chair of Doom. Cupcakes make everything shiny and full of rainbows again. Sometimes there are unicorns. Who fart glitter.
This is what a fairly typical dentist's office looks like:
Sterile, but unoffensive.
And this is what I imagine when I step into the building:
P.S. My dentist is not using proper chainsaw form or technique. And he has forearms of steel.
P.P.S. I wasn't actually dressed like a slightly peppier version of Freddy Krueger... though I am wearing a sweater with stripes and I am exactly that pale.
I asked my sister if she would be so kind as to attempt some of the same drawings I've posted on the blog; I thought the comparisons would be giggle-worthy. You know, since she has talent and I ... do not. I guess she took a crack at it, if this email is any indication:
Today my wonderful friend, Meredith, turns, um, an-age-older-than-she-was-last-year. I like to draw birthday cards for my people using Paint; it amuses me (and hopefully them as well). For Mer's b-day celebration, we're going to a shooting range to shoot MACHINE GUNS!
It'll look just like that. Meredith is 9' tall, but I'm happy to report her body is quite a bit more proportional that I depicted it up there. (But she really does have rad blue hair (sometimes).)
For my first attempt I was going for something along the lines of, "Meredith should fire that weapon as if she is shooting all of the assholes who have ever been mean to her because she pretty much rocks as a friend (sister, wife, etc.) and no one should ever be mean to her", but it ended up just looking more violent and bloody and less HAPPY BIRTHDAY I THINK YOU ARE AWESOME.
Murder-Death-Kill-Birthday
Anyway, Happy B-day, Mer-dith. Can't wait to play with guns and drink beer with you (doesn't get much more Amurrican than that).
Perhaps I need to seek professional help. Everything I draw is sad. I'm not a sad person; in fact, I tend to run happy. Happy is my go-to. Happy is my default.
... or am I deluding myself? Is my "inner Heather" crying out for an intervention?
This clown fish tells no jokes.
Obviously I was reaching for the stars with my previous attempts at drawing (though one lucky boy or girl will be getting the ox -- framed and matted -- as a birthday/Christmas present this year). I thought it best to demote myself to more, uhh, entry-level art. My library has a fantastic children's section. I learned how to draw that fish up there from Ralph Masiello's ocean drawing book (ages 6 and up!). It also had a few pages on sharks:
Step-by-step. Simple lines. No problem.
Captain, we have a problem.
I try not to censor myself too much on here, but I have to admit, I was (ok, am) almost too embarrassed to post this picture. I'd like to say I messed up it up on purpose to be funny, but ... no.With the exception of he extreme buck shark teeth (he looks like an asshole, he should have giant asshole teeth), it was legit.
I was talking on the phone, so distraction clearly played a part in the shark demise. I'm sure that's it. Next time, no phone, no "West Wing", no annoying cat. Just me, my pad, my pencil and an empty mind (that last one shouldn't be too hard to accomplish). I'm telling you, shit's about to get real at Chez Heather.
I did stay in the lines yesterday. That has to count for something.
You should do more of this, less of all that crap up there ↑.
Stick to what you know, lady.
Day one of being creative elicited laughter, but not much in the way of actual art. I consider myself to be an autodidact of sorts -- in some areas anyway. Art? Not turning out to be one of those areas. Look! I have a special pencil and an eraser I can't stop smelling, and a book and a fancy sketch pad. (I look like I'm angry and/or annoyed in both of those pictures, but I was actually feeling quite chipper. Awkward self-portraits.)
And yet...
Nope.
And yet...
Nope, nope, nope.
I gave up on the damn clouds (as you can see) and colored a picture instead:
Color in the lines? Oh, I can so do that.
I'm not ready to throw in my drawing towel quite yet (in fact, I'm pretty mad at it and want to show it who's boss), but I am having a difficult time coming up with ideas for being creative outside of my "arts and crafts" box. I need another box. I do have a few things on my list that aren't necessarily hot glue gun or crayon-related, but I am open to other suggestions. Got any for me? Anything you'd like to see me attempt? I am here for your entertainment, people! Let me entertain you.
I spent quite a lot of time putting a fancy email button on my blog yesterday, please feel free to use it, if for no other reason than to make me feel better about the two-ish hours I spent trying to make two lines of HTML code work properly (thank you, brother-o-mine). Let that time not have been in vain.
... of course most of you reading this blog are my friends and family and already have my email address. Whatever. Use the button anyway.
At 10pm I snuggled into bed, socks on, book in hand. Two pages later, I remembered that this is "Do something creative every day month". Sigh. I got out of my warm, cozy bed and colored a picture.
January: Take a picture every day February: Make something and/or be creative every day (I'm taking an art class starting mid-Feb, which will fit in nicely with this task). I am not taking an art class. March: Meditate (2 minutes or 2 hours, as long as I do it) April: No shopping, at all (excluding food and toilet paper, of course) May: No eating out (I'll eat at someone's house, but not in a restaurant) June: Walk 100 miles July: No TV (this includes Netflix, Hulu, etc.) August: Daily dancing (dancing in my living room totally counts) September: Eat vegetarian (bacon, I miss you already) October: Try a new food (or a recipe if I run out of food ideas), daily November: Learn something new (a new word, a new cloud formation, how to solder properly, whatever) December: No SWEARING (fuuuuuuck)
"Make something and/or be creative every day." Sure, no problem. My family gene pool is obviously rife with creative talent if we use my brother's myriad music ventures
and my sister's artistic hand as examples.
"Where was my fault in loving you with my whole heart?"
Last night I sat down with my "Drawing for Dummies" book to officially kick off the month and get those artsy juices flowing. I turned to a random page and found this little guy:
I am easy to draw.
I was on the phone with my mother as I was absentmindedly sketching Babe the Blue Black Ox and I quickly dissolved into giggles, followed soon after by peals of laughter. Hysterical laughter, actually. Crying-can't-talk-going-to-pee-my-pants laughter. Behold! My talent!
Why am I so sad?
Methinks the creative gene skipped the first generation. Just so we're clear, it's supposed to look like this:
Fierce.
Not this:
Not fierce.
I giggle every time I look at it. I'm giggling right now. If this is any indication of how my month of "being creative" is going to go, I might try my hand at knitting instead. Now, lest I give up too quickly, I did not have the correct pencils, erasers or fancy art paper last night, which clearly affected my output. I stopped by the art store this evening and and stocked up on the necessary supplies: fancy pencil, fancy sketch book (40% off!), those big, blocky erasers that totally smell like childhood, crayons and a coloring book. I also bought a paint-by-numbers kit (oh yeah, that's happening).
Why do you smell so good?!
Based on last month's experience, I know I will not have an abundance of time during the week to spend attempting to draw oxen, so I will have to be creative in my creative ventures. (See what I did there?) Coloring in a coloring book will count, as will ... other-things-that-are-easy.
Here are some of my ideas (that I mostly pilfered from the Internet).
1. Draw, color, paint.
2. Make another robot.
3. Make an awesome paper airplane and/or oragami (I picked up a book about that too. I ♥ my library.)
4. Make a candle (my sis-in-law is good at that shit).
5. Put together a little bonsai zen garden in my mom's greenhouse.
6. Try new recipes, mostly cupcakes. "Making" toast will not count.
7. Flip through the craft books that I borrowed from Mindy for other ideas. (I could do that right now, but the book is all the way across the room and ... meh. Getting up seems hard.)
8. Work on the Antarctica map project I've been kicking around in my head for years now.
9. This list has to go to 10.
10. Writing exercises (yes, I have a book for that).
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