Squirrel Zombie.

My husband loves squirrels. He buys peanuts and we throw them into the backyard. We have done this for years.

Squirrels love us. Gradually word gets around in the squirrel community and we end up with a regular crew. They're really smart and will come find us at the windows to tell us they're hungry.

But wait, this story is slightly charming. There is neither blood nor gore. What the hell.

One day... my favorite squirrel friend arrived at the window. Perched upon the back of his usual chair, waiting for his peanuts.

With half of his throat ripped out.

And dangling ragged flesh.

And gore aplenty.

I averted my eyes and fed him his nuts. He ate them gingerly. It was sad. I figured he wasn't going to hang around long, but was impressed that he was still trying.

The next day he was back. Surprisingly. Looking worse. Unsurprisingly. The gore section was now black. He was more swollen and one of his eyes was starting to close. He ate his nut, as slowly as the previously day and left.

This happened for a couple of days and then on Saturday...I'll spare you the description. It actually makes me a little sick to think about.

And he's still going. Looking better I suppose.

The furry little zombie. All undead in my backyard. Finding time in his busy little ghoul schedule to check in for peanuts.

Sweet little thing.

What's this blog about now?

Here's what happened. I started this blog because I wanted to share but was uncomfortable with sharing.

So I shared a little.

Then some intense-ish things happened in my life and I started a blog with a better name in order to dreg that muck out. Because I was still uncomfortable with sharing.

Now I am no longer uncomfortable with sharing. And I have two blogs. Well, three if you include the drawing one. Four if you include the secret neglected one about me being a hack which was abandoned due to its propensity to self-prophesy.

But I like to tell you things still. And the two blogs are kind of the same.

A quandary.

Kindergartners rule. Now and always.

Today I played a board game with the Baby Kitty.

He needed clarification on a Charades type of item that I wasn't allowed to see.

I told him to ask his older brother instead of his father, because his father was cooking dinner.

Baby Kitty's answer - within earshot of everyone:

"Right. Because he's the smart one!"

Tatoos I might have if I had tattoos.

I have no tattoos.

This is not because I dislike them. On the contrary, I kind of like tattoo art.

It's not because I can't make up my mind either. In a pinch, I'm sure we could come up with something poignant, or amusing, or contrived. A visual pun might be nice. Maybe even the word "pun". Get it? Har har. I would even write "har har" after it. See? Isn't this easy?

Maybe some random dude's name. Nobody I know. In super big letters. Poorly kerned.

Who am I kidding - kerning needs to be flawless.

Know what else would be cool? A zipper. Or many. Like around each wrist and ankle. And around the neck. As if those parts were interchangeable. Or in exact replication of the placement of the zippers on Michael Jackson's jacket. Or around the skull - right in the middle of the forehead. Like you can unzip the top.

How about a pocket? Right on my hip. To forever remind me how stupid womens' clothing can be.

Maybe we can go retro. Remember when generic brands hit the stores and we had the black and white labels that said "bread", and "soda", and most famously, "beer"? How about we do "TRAMP STAMP" right at the base of the back? That would be economical.

How about "Born to be economical." In Helvetica.

How about "If you can read this you speak English." And put that in the tramp stamp spot.

Hmm. Guess that's all.

The Baby Kitty has a laugh.

The Baby Kitty was playing a game with me. He held toys behind a cloth so that I could only see their shapes and said "guess what this is?"

They all looked like blobs. I could never guess any of them. Not in a million years. So the game went like this:

BK: Guess what this is?

ME: Uhhhh, I don't know.

BK: Look at it!

ME: It's a...chicken.

BK: NO!

ME: It's a cow.

BK: NO!

ME: It's a duck.

BK: I'll give you a hint - it starts with a 'g'.

ME: It's a guck.

BK: [laughs and laughs and laughs] You said 'guck'!

ME: I know, because that's what it is, right? A guck?

BK: [laughs and laughs and laughs] [and laughs]. GUCK!

BK: No.

Then he showed me what it was, but I don't remember the 'g' one. The 'd' one was a droid.

Dear High School, I hate you. Now leave already.

I hated High School. I like Facebook.

I hate that High School people are all over Facebook.

I don't want to see random douches' prom pictures. But I look anyway. Because it's a little bit interesting I guess. Kind of like plague is interesting. In a historical sense. Even douches had lives.

Here's what I really hate about the whole H.S./Facebook mix - I had kind of moved on, but now I'm back against my will. There are a few people I liked and either stayed in contact with, or am happy to have contact with again. But now I see their comments and such, and all those old stupid names are all over the place. If I had known I was signing up for a lifetime experience I might have chosen not to attend.

But this makes me realize that I hadn't really moved on. To be that burned up over stupid random people is something that shouldn't occur.

So now I know what to work on. Again. Whatever.

Know what happened?

That's what the Baby Kitty says when he's telling you a story. He says it about twice a minute. Maybe more. Any time he pauses in what he's saying.

"And then...know what happened??"

And every time I say "What??", or "NO! Tell me!" With varying degrees of urgency and excitement.

I also throw in lots of "OH MY GOD!" and "NO WAY!!!". With great big googly amazed eyes rolling around in my head.

He eats it up like candy.

The best is when he lays one of those stories on his 14-year-old brother. Who does not delight in the "Know what happened?" as I do. His responses are more along the lines of:

"What."

"What."

"What."

".....what."

[looks toward me desperately for help] "...what!"

And I laugh and laugh. And egg the baby kitty on with double-takes and heart-clutching. And ask my older son "can you BELIEVE it???" And throw down the clincher: "And THEN what happened?" And older son gets that tortured look on his face...


I freaking love Kindergartners. I can't say it enough.

Graphic Design Sucks.

Title caps, and a period.

I spend my days doing stupid things. Some of which are too horrifically dull to subject you too. You would cry from the boredom.

In theory I make things look nice.

Most of the time I just make dumb things look dumber.

This is actually a job.

Basically I do what I'm told - just like everyone. Sometimes I get someone who has an aesthetic that is compatible with mine. Sometimes I get someone with an aesthetic that is better than mine.

I like these times because it means that if I'm not creating what I want, at least I'll create something that looks nice. Either way is good for me.

Other times I spend a good deal of time assigning order to bad pictures and copy - and might even come up with a solution that I feel is passable. Only to see it destroyed by client suggestion. Which is generally O.K. Unless it was REALLY hard to get to a good place. Then it sucks the soul out of my body and flushes it down the toilet.

But I get over it. My soul always comes back, and hey, it got to go for a ride.

One time I worked for a guy that I could not please. He tore everything apart and reassembled it through days and weeks of draft reviews. Until we missed every deadline we ever had and went so far over budget it was comical. He was always threatening to fire me, and he should have. I wasn't doing the job he wanted.

Until I had an epiphany. I realized he wanted it to look BAD. So I did everything I was taught not to do and threw it into a nasty mish-mash of 3-D text, murky gradients and a sea of type for people to wade through. He loved it. We were a real shit factory for a while there. Just churning it out. It was extremely depressing.

I think I might have told you that story before. We've been together a while now, you and I, so it's natural that I might start repeating myself.

But I'm not upset about the whole graphic design sucking thing. Not really. I'm just coming off a fairly sucky time, and there's a wee bit left with a new little shitty job starting up. Not BAD, mind you, just kind of crappy.

And they're keeping me from the good stuff which is annoying.

Because I fricking love graphic design. In a seriously dorky "It'll never date you because you can't stop calling and leaving pathetic messages on its voicemail telling it how beautiful it is." kind of way.

The kind of way that makes me want to write about it in the middle of the night. After it's pissed me off for two solid weeks.

Just to tell it how much I love it.

Lame.

What happens to my water.

Shrinky Dinks

Shrinky Dinks have so much potential.