TAPERT : duct tape homunculus

          One day driving to work I suddenly thought, "I wonder if you could make a doll out of duct tape? I made my wallet out of it. How much harder could a doll be?"
          So I grabbed my trusty Sharpie (always in the truck with me) and scrawled "Duct tape doll" on the back of my hand, so I wouldn't forget.
          Tapert is the result.
          To begin with I took the snipped off end of a striped stocking and filled it with these stuffing bead things I've had for years. They're made for stuffing dolls/plush animals with. I like them. Makes his bum weighty enough for proper sitting. But it was tricky taping the stocking closed with duct tape. Not pretty. 
          Then I used some pliant wire (recycled from a cleverly-wrapped Christmas gift someone gave us) to form the skeleton for his limbs and his head.
          For his head I started ripping out pages from a discarded dictionary. My original idea was one page of each letter, so he'd be smart. But I started from Z, and only made it through O, before realizing I couldn't fit any more pages in, or his head would be huge and unwieldy.
          Luckily, the page I happened to tear out of the O section included "okapi," which is my favorite wild animal. There was even a drawing of one. So although Tapert may not know about anything that starts with letters A-N, at least he knows about okapis.
          I wadded the dictionary pages into a nice round ball, and stuck on 3 tiny pom-pons to create a nose bump. Then I wound up his head in the blue duct tape, around the wire loop.
          To give his arms and legs a little thickness, I cut long rectangles of foam and taped over those. Now I'm thinking they're too blocky, but it's too late for that, and I don't want Tapert to feel insecure so I don't say anything disparaging in his presence.
          Hands and feet were problematic. I was determined to use only duct tape for his body, so he ended up with black... caps? Well, actually they sort of look like hooves, or trotters. He is not nimble with them.
          Thanks to plaid patterned duct tape he is wearing a plaid shirt.
          His face is painted white, with jeweled brads for eyes and some hand-drawn details. I knew he was gritting his teeth and furrowing his brow before I drew it, I just had to follow my instincts.
          He needed a hat, so I used another striped stocking. I rolled the cut end up to form a bit of a cuff, and sewed the other end up with a bunch of strands of furry blue string/yarn, so the cap has a puffball.
          I thought maybe I was done, but then Tapert was like, "Bitch, I'm still COLD! Make me a SCARF."
          I was a little surprised at his choice of hot pink, but I think it suits his look. It's bold and fashion-forward. He doesn't give a shit what people think.

IN THE DREAMHOUSE : Asian Swapmeet; Hillbilly Moonshine Truck; Apocalyptic Flood

       I dreamed I was helping run a booth at an Asian swapmeet for an Asian family I was friends with. It was actually a cross between a swapmeet and an indie convention. The booth had lots of fascinating things for a round-eye like me. Jade dragons, Buddha statues, little dolls, scrolls, etc. The best thing was a soft-sculpture radish doll with the most adorable little face full of wisdom and peace. I wanted that doll really bad. I said I was buying it as a gift for my friend Julie, but even in the dream that doll was probably going to end up mine.

       Setting up the booth was a lot of hard work, lifting and unpacking boxes, and putting displays together. Then I was busy helping customers. For some reason we also had a table of heavy metal T-shirts, and these two teenage boys gravitated straight to it. The taller boy put his arm around the younger and, pointing, said, “I’d like THAT shirt, for my boyfriend, here.”

       It was hard to tell if they really were gay, or just joking around, so it put me on edge. The shirt they wanted was something with a screaming skull, and they wanted it in XXL. I had to crawl under the table to look through the boxes of shirts for the right size. I couldn’t find it, so then I had to go to a back room area of our booth and go through a whole bunch of backstock boxes. We kept all the backstock under the tables, especially the T-shirts and caps, because apparently those are most frequently stolen. As soon as I started getting boxes out and going through them, this asshole guy tried to steal a baseball cap, and I yanked it right off his head and told him to beat it.

       That dream ended, and the next began with Anthony and me getting into Julie’s Lexus.

***

       Someone had professionally printed Julie’s job title and the words “GOVERNMENT EMPLOYEE” onto the head rests of every seat in her car. She was very proud of this, but it gave me a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. She drove Anthony and me to a dangerous hillbilly area of the Inland Empire, to a little restaurant that made Asian sandwiches with French fries stuffed in them. It was all pretty ghetto, and when we were sitting down eating we really started noticing how scary the other diners were. Scraggly beards, dirty clothes, and they were totally leering at us.

       When we decided it was time to get the hell out of there, we discovered that Julie’s car was gone, so we found an abandoned old truck and appropriated it. The problem with the truck was that instead of a regular gas tank, it had this awkward exterior trunk in the trunk bed. The trunk was filled with moonshine whiskey, and connected to the engine via a long hose. I drove the truck, trying to navigate us out of the Inland Empire backwoods, but the roads were confusing and poorly maintained. Mostly just dirt and gravel, one-lane affairs like in the old days. Whenever we drove past people, they were scary hillbillies looking for trouble and violence. One time we barreled down a narrow tree-lined road just as some hillbillies were shooting at each other ahead. I swerved down a side road to avoid getting caught in the middle of it.

       The truck ran out of moonshine, but luckily we found a gas station and a freeway onramp. The truck didn’t run as well on actual gasoline as it did on bootleg whiskey, but we got on the freeway and raced toward home.

***

       Somewhere on the freeway, the Inland Empire dream dissolved into an apocalyptic scenario in which I knew that a gigantic flood was due any minute. I was by myself, in what looked like a big city park with lots of tall trees and hills. It seemed important to climb as high as I possibly could, that if I could just get high up enough I would be above the flood level and might survive. I picked the tallest tree I could find with lots of easy-to-climb lower branches, and scurried high up into its branches. I made it to the very top.

       At first I thought I’d made it to safety, but then I got a sinking feeling and felt a shadow gathering over me. I looked up and saw that the wave of the flood extended impossibly high into the sky, much higher than my treetop perch.

       I thought if I could just hold on through the breaking of the wave, maybe the water would course down around me and still leave me high and dry when the wave moved on. But as the flood crashed down onto my tree, the trunk and all its branches splintered like matchsticks.

       I drowned/woke up.

SOILED SANDALS


          Someone left these in the bathroom at work, and they've been sitting there for MONTHS, now. Why does the owner refuse to remove them? They are totally gross, and for some reason one of my first thoughts upon seeing them was, "What if you had really bad OCD, and felt compelled to LICK these nasty sandals?"
          I will not lick them, but now that the thought has occurred to me, I sort of feel like SOMEBODY should lick them. That is DISGUSTING. It would be the perfect punishment.

OZ : new movies to be nervous about

          Well, it would certainly be nice if these new Oz-related movies helped drum up some new and broader interest in The Royal Historian of Oz, a graphic novel I recently completed with artist Andy Hirsch, published by SLG, Inc.
          Aside from that possibility, I'm scared. I'm always scared when somebody treads on literary sacred ground. Will it be a sacrilege? Will I want to gouge out my own eyes? That's what's so nerve-wracking about CREATING something based on a much-loved children's classic. I was nervous when I started writing Royal Historian, but I'm a fan of the original books by L. Frank Baum, and tried to show as much respect and reverence for the original material as possible.
          Here are the new Oz movies in the works:

          Oz: the Great and Powerful. A prequel starring James Franco as a younger Wizard of Oz, scheduled for a March 2013 release. Here is Disney's official synopsis:
Walt Disney Pictures' fantastical adventure "Oz The Great and Powerful," directed by Sam Raimi, imagines the origins of L. Frank Baum's beloved character, the Wizard of Oz. When Oscar Diggs (James Franco), a small-time circus magician with dubious ethics, is hurled away from dusty Kansas to the vibrant Land of Oz, he thinks he's hit the jackpot--fame and fortune are his for the taking--that is until he meets three witches, Theodora (Mila Kunis), Evanora (Rachel Weisz) and Glinda (Michelle Williams), who are not convinced he is the great wizard everyone's been expecting. Reluctantly drawn into the epic problems facing the Land of Oz and its inhabitants, Oscar must find out who is good and who is evil before it is too late. Putting his magical arts to use through illusion, ingenuity--and even a bit of wizardry--Oscar transforms himself not only into the great and powerful Wizard of Oz but into a better man as well.
          Here's what I don't like about this so far: I don't find the Wizard to be one of the most interesting characters, especially if they're going by the movie version of the Wizard. Also- I saw James Franco most recently in Rise of the Planet of the Apes, and the CG ape turned in a far more nuanced and believable performance.
          I don't like that bit at the end, about the Wizard transforming himself into a better man. Are we going to get hit over the head with a moral? Besides, since this is a prequel, I think it's too early for the Wizard to become a better man, since he is still a charlatan and a fake when Dorothy meets him. It's only later in the original series of books that the Wizard develops real magic powers.
          But who knows? Maybe I'll end up liking it. I LOVED Disney's 1985 live-action Return To Oz, with Fairuza Balk as Dorothy.

          Dorothy of Oz. This one is a CG animated movie (Summertime Entertainment/Alpine Pictures), scheduled for a May 2012 release. Voices by Lea Michele (Dorothy), Martin Short (a new villain called the Jester), Dan Aykroyd (the Scarecrow), Kelsey Grammer (the Tin Man), and Jim Belushi (the Cowardly Lion). Oh- and Patrick Stewart as a tugboat. WTF, right?
          It's based on a book by Roger S. Baum, one of L. Frank Baum's great-grandsons. The story takes place as soon as Dorothy returns home after her very first trip to Oz. Kansas is all f***ed up from the twister, but then she's whisked back to Oz, where she and her pals are confronted by "The Jester," a character NOT in the original books, and since he's being voiced by Martin Short I can only imagine how annoying it will be. I'm already annoyed by Lea Michele voicing Dorothy, since I find her strident and obnoxious on "Glee." I have a bad attitude about this, and maybe I need to turn my frown upside-down. But that's just how I roll.

          You know, I'm not ALWAYS a sourpuss about this sort of thing. I was really looking forward to Disney & Tim Burton's Alice In Wonderland. It's a shame that movie basically shat all over Lewis Carroll's beautiful creation. If you want to see what a dick I am about it, go HERE.

IN THE DREAMHOUSE : arterial spray

          Usually I can watch horror movies right before bed without any problem, but last night I watched the last 20 minutes of the Amityville remake. It's not even a good remake, but there's a scene where Ryan Reynolds is seeing visions of the previous occupant's suicide by throat-slitting, and you see Ryan's face covered in showers of arterial blood spray. As I watched it I was like, "Eh... Whatever. Time for bed."
          But I had this nightmare that I was in a multi-level hotel, going up and down elevators trying to escape a serial killer. I ended up in a lounge just as the killer entered the room. Just by chance, I was behind some other people at the bar, mostly obscured from the killer's view. He had a switchblade, and cut down a few people around me, so I dropped to the ground with them and played possum.
          He slit the throat of a man right next to me, and as I lay there on the ground praying I wouldn't be discovered I could feel the man's blood spattering across me.
          Luckily the nightmare either ended there, or shifted scenes, so I wasn't discovered. But it was bad enough, man!
          I woke up, and my mind quickly shifted from serial killers and blood spray to diarrhea. The word itself. It's a nuanced word, with the double-R and the silent H. The double-R gives it an appropriate growl/grunt, and the silent H reflects a miserable silent breath of discomfort. I started getting ideas for poop-related pop art, and that's when I realized it was time to just accept that I wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep.
          I got out of bed, fed the dog, got a cup of coffee, and here I am...

SCATTERSHOT

          This week is agonizingly slow, dragging by legless and nearly dehydrated. It's finals week for the students, so the library has been either frenziedly busy (before, between, and after classes) or eerily silent.
          At my psychiatrist's office yesterday, I confided that I could feel my brain trying to get anxious and fixated negatively on some things lately, but so far I've been self-aware enough to nip that in the bud. Thanks to the drugs. I made a point to insist that I felt the drugs were still working, because I'm not ready to have my dosages increased, or to be put on something more heavy-duty. But I felt it was important to lay a little groundwork of honesty, in case I grow increasingly spazzy, and need to have my prescriptions tweaked.
          The fact that I don't have a publisher yet for my illustrated children's middle-grade fantasy novel makes me feel un-anchored and nervous. I've only written 5 or 6 chapters of it, and only submitted it to (and been rejected by) one publisher. I know I should relax and just enjoy working on it. I've been wanting to shift gears from comics & graphic novels to something more... "novelly" for years now. But my brain doesn't do well without clear deadlines and agreements.
          Maybe I should go straight home and work really hard on it. Maybe I should put my energy into exercising, eating less, and trying to lose some weight. I am 40 now, after all. Maybe I should put my energy into some potentially "fine art" type of creativity. There's (potentially) more money in that, from what I've seen. Why be constrained by the format of a book at all? Sometimes it's hard to tell if I feel like writing, or drawing. And when I definitely feel like writing, part of me wants to work on the children's novel, and another part of me wants to write something for adults, like a full-on horror novel, or something more complex and harder to fit into a simplified category.
          Maybe I just need a nap.
          But then I remember that I got a notice from the IRS about a minor tax discrepancy from my 2010 taxes. I need to figure that out, in case I need to file a correction. The notice I received didn't give a deadline, though, so it's easy to procrastinate, especially something confusing like taxes.
          My mom was kind enough to give me an awesome industrial-type pin-back button (badge) maker for Christmas. It's a small press with metal pieces and a lever. I should make a bunch of buttons and try to sell them on Etsy, or at conventions and stuff. Maybe THAT'S what I should do this evening. I've made some buttons already, of course, but not enough to start selling.
          Maybe I DO need more drugs. Why can't I let myself just relax, take a nap, read, watch some TV? Is that really so terrible?
          But I also have this painting project I started, then abandoned temporarily for button-making. The painting project involves a big metal Medieval shield that hangs on the wall. I've already spray-painted it black and painted a weird blue animal face over what used to be a coat-of-arms. I've been planning to add some Martha Stewart glitter paint to it. The bottles are lined up eagerly on my drafting table: blue, amethyst, and green.
          HOLY CRAP the choir next door to the library is singing "Send In the Clowns." What have I done to deserve that?
          Anyway, maybe I just need to drink more often. Oh- and then lately it's been really grim because the Librarian I work with found out that her husband has terminal lung cancer. It's awful beyond words, and I feel terrible for both of them. Of course she didn't want everyone to know right away because she didn't want to have to talk about it all the time. But people have started finding out and coming in to commiserate. And asking ME about it. Even on Facebook. So I'm trying to keep my mind off mortality, but it's been difficult.
          I thought of a great band name: "Diarrhea Envy." Get it? Like "penis envy," only with diarrhea...? No?
         
         

FRIDAY the 13th

          I'm not at all superstitious about Friday the 13th, or anything else for that matter. (Except for black cats crossing my path, but that's another story)
          BUT...
          Here's why today sucks:
          First off I finally received a response to my middle grade fantasy novel, which I had submitted to an editor with a big well-known publisher. It was a rejection, which is always a bummer, but I have to say the REASONS why my story wasn't right for him made me laugh out loud, considering the obscene and irreverent nature of a lot of my previous work. Here's what the editor said:

"Thank you for letting me read this, but I don't think it will work on my list as the story seems too old-fashioned and twee for my taste. Good luck finding the right publisher for this."

          I don't love having my work rejected, but I understand his reasons and kind of enjoy being called old-fashioned and twee. Especially since just last night I listed two "My Little Penis" coffee mugs on Etsy.
          The other reason today sucks is that I had to sit here at my desk and listen to a discussion/debate between a student and a substitute teacher about whether or not gay people deserve equal rights. It was a Social Studies class, and they're researching the different presidential candidates and their stances on the major issues.
          The student is Mormon, and VERY insistently anti gay marriage. The substitute did an AWESOME job of questioning the kid's faulty reasoning and trying to make him see the other side of the issue. But I have heard this kid go on about it before, and he's unfortunately full of brazen confidence and good-natured smiles and Mormon brain-washing. Blond, blue eyes, clean cut, just as you would expect. He's always been extremely polite and respectful to my face, and he KNOWS I'm gay, and married to a dude. It's amazing how people like that can sit right there in front of you and argue why you shouldn't have the same civil rights they do, and expect you to just accept it.
          It's like they expect you to react the way you would if the disagreement were over which is better, chocolate or vanilla ice cream. No big deal, right?
          So I listened to them go back and forth for a while, respecting each other's opinions, smiling and laughing, yet making their points. Finally I got up and said, "You know what? I wasn't going to say anything, but I have to. You all know I'm gay, and that I have a husband. Well, it's really weird for me to sit here and listen to you guys debate whether or not I should have the same rights everyone else does. I just think you should consider that, and try to imagine what it's like for me. It's like if you were arguing in favor of racism right in front of a black person."
          The kid tried to say that it's not discrimination, and he had all sorts of weird incorrect ideas obviously from his church. He was saying that if they make gay marriage legal, then if a church won't marry gay people, they'll have their tax-exempt status removed, and go bankrupt, and it's not right for the poor churches to go bankrupt over that. I finally interrupted and said, "It IS discrimination. What you want is the right to discriminate, and you should just be HONEST about that."
          I also said that during the 6 months or so that it was legal in California, my husband and I had a civil marriage ceremony, we certainly didn't FORCE ourselves into anyone's church, and I didn't hear about any OTHER gay couples doing that. I told him I wasn't even sure if he was correct that a church could be forced to hold gay marriages. I said, "I wouldn't want any part of a church that didn't respect and honor my marriage, anyway. Why would we want that?"
          Another issue the substitute had raised was the right for a gay person's partner to be involved in medical/health decisions, and hospital visiting rights. The kid actually, honestly, said, "Oh, but that's such a minor thing!" He even argued with the substitute about HOW minor that issue is. And he was not kidding. And he's a SENIOR. And we're a college prep academy.
          I told him it may seem like a very minor thing to him, at his age, but my husband is diabetic and it has and could in the future be a very real issue for us. It is VERY important.
          I tried my best to be firm yet not seem angry, and to give the impression that I respect the Mormon kid's viewpoints, even though I most certainly do not.
          I know some gay people might have thought it wiser to say nothing, but I REFUSE to make it easy for anybody to debate my equal rights in front of my face. Especially when the person arguing my rights away KNOWS I'm gay. That is seriously fucked up. It's like that type of person banks on me (the minority) being too intimidated to say anything.
          Needless to say, my nerves were totally shaken by the time that period ended, but I was determined not to show it.

BABY DWARF BEARS ARE EASILY OFFENDED

From the back cover of "Skelebunnies Spanktacular"
          I recently applied for a Capital One card, and used the "upload image" option so I could personalize the image on my card. Above is the image I uploaded, which I do have the rights to, since I drew it. Then I received the following message from Capital One:

Sorry, we were unable to approve the image you submitted


The image you submitted for your Capital One Image Card has been rejected. We will not approve any images that contain the following:


Libelous, defamatory, sexually explicit, or other content we deem offensive, including discrimination, "hate speech," or socially unacceptable groups (gangs).


If you believe that you have been declined in error, please call us at...

          I seriously doubt the crying baby dwarf bear would be deemed hateful or socially unacceptable, and he certainly not in a gang. His penis is not visible, and the Skelebunny doesn't have genitalia. The mummified heads in the ice cream cone don't seem to fit any of the forbidden categories, either. Unless there is a baby dwarf bear working at Capital One who objected to my portrayal of his kind as being defamatory, I believe they declined the image in error.
          I called the number, explained my case, and the helpful employee giggled, apologized, and wrote up a counter-claim or something. When I told her I actually drew the image and have the right to use it, she asked if I had a website, and took that down. Maybe I'll end up with a new fan because of this. Or else they'll blacklist me from ever getting credit with them again. Because of the offended baby dwarf bears on their payroll.

I KNEW AN OLD WITCH

     When I was in kindergarten, we were taught a Halloween song called "I Knew an Old Witch." I memorized it, and my parents had a cassette tape recording of me singing it, bubbling over with enthusiasm and giggles. That tape is still around somewhere, and occasionally resurfaces. And I still sing that song every year, at least once. Here are the lyrics as I learned them:

I Knew an Old Witch

I knew an old witch
believe it if you can!
She knocked on the windowsill and ran, ran, ran.
She ran helter-skelter with her toes in the air,
Corn stalks flying out of the old witch's hair.
Swish went the broom,
Meow went the cat,
PLOP went the old frog sitting on her hat.
It was the funniest thing I'd ever seen,
Hurrah hooray for Halloween!

     I looked around online for it, and all I could track down was this page: http://canteach.ca/elementary/songspoems8.html
     It's a teacher resource page of Halloween songs, and they're not accredited to anyone, so I'm not sure where the song originally came from. Plus, the lyrics are a little different from the way I learned them. Which means they're wrong. But here they are anyway:

There Was an Old Witch
There was an old witch
Believe it if you can,
She tapped on the windows
And she ran, ran, ran.
she ran helter skelter with her toes in the air,
Cornstalks flying from the old witches' hair.
Swish goes the broomstick, meow goes the cat,
Plop goes the hop-toad sitting on her hat.
"Whee,"chuckled I, "What fun, what fun!"
Hallowe'en night when the witches run!

The '90s...

          A student with the school newspaper just did a short interview with me about the '90s. She's writing an article about things that were popular then, and trying to get the perspective of those who were either teens or young adults in that decade. She had a list of TV shows (My So-Called Life, Twin Peaks, Friends, South Park, etc), fashion and music (grunge, etc), and even toys from the '90s.
          One of the toys listed was "Furbies." I admitted I DID own a baby Furby that wouldn't die. It kept blinking its eyes and chattering and groaning and cooing until we finally put it underneath a cabinet, way back against the wall where it would get very little light/stimulation. It's probably still there.
I will not die. I WILL NOT DIE.

          I brought up "Riot Grrl," which the student had heard of, and she immediately said, "Oh, like Bikini Kill!" I was VERY pleased that she knew of them. She also knows who Courtney Love is. I told her one of the best concerts I've ever been to was Hole, up in L.A. right after the release of "Live Through This." We talked about Nirvana, and Korn, too. She'd never heard of Babes in Toyland, which is a shame. I hope she looks them up.
I miss Courtney's '90s face. The plastic surgery is a tragedy.

          I told her I loved grunge fashion, like the plaid flannel shirts, slouchy jeans, and wallet chains. I said I thought maybe the term "indie," short for independent, was a particularly '90s buzzword. I asked her if she knew what "zines" were, and she did. She even knew they were related to the feminist/Riot Grrl movement. She did NOT know that Bikini Kill was a zine before it was a band, and she seemed to find that very interesting.

          When I started to make a pot of coffee, I suddenly remembered that "goth" was a pop culture explosion in the '90s, so I crept over and told her that, too. I explained that the movement existed before, but was called different things, regionally. Like in my high school it was "deathrock." But sometime in the '90s (because of Marilyn Manson, maybe) the term "Goth" invaded pop culture so that everyone was familiar with it, or at least the bastard pop culture version of it.
          She suggested that the movie The Craft had something to do with the '90s popularity of "Goth," and I chirped, "I love that movie! It's one of my favorites!" I did NOT tell her that I've watched it probably 50 times, and own it on VHS and DVD.
          I feel like a child of the '70s, '80s, AND '90s. I guess I've had a protracted childhood.

HALLOWEEN PLAYLIST

          I cannot sleep tonight for some stupid reason, so I created a Halloween playlist in iTunes. Here's a link to it:

http://c.itunes.apple.com/us/imix/halloween-playlist-2011/id471835573

          I had to sign up for "Ping" to do it. You don't have to sign up for Ping to view the list, though. I've been avoiding Ping because the name is irritating, like a sound your car would make that signifies a problem. Plus it's yet another "social networking" thing. Ugh. But here I am using it...

DUMPSTER DIVING : Viny L Baby

"Oh my god! I swear the body was there when we buried it!"
          Covered in creeping vines, the Lesbian baby crawled out of its coffin in the dumpster and made its way out into the hungry night...

DUMPSTER DIVING : Hannah Montana bicycle


          Please, please tell me this is a sign that she is finally past her prime, that her deal with the devil has expired and maybe kids will stop wanting anything and everything with her name on it. Either of her names.
          Something was wrong with the seat of this discarded bicycle. Shredded or worn down to the metal or something. I didn't want to inspect closer, and would rather not hypothesize about why the bike itself looks fairly new but the seat is totally thrashed.
          Maybe next year there'll be a Bieber bike out by the dumpster.

IN THE DREAMHOUSE: Churros, and toy garlands

Unfortunately, in my dream there was no chocolate.
 
Written 8/20/2011 

             The first dream last night was dark and disturbing, and featured churros prominently. It was Christmas Eve, and I had come to an outdoor churro restaurant with Anthony, Mom & Dan, and Vincent D'Onofrio. It was night, and crowded.

              I had no cash in my pockets, and needed to pay with credit. The restaurant made you call in your own credit charge by phone, but you had to use a floppy menu that doubled as a cell phone to make the call. There were puffy buttons built into it. I had no flat surface to work on, just standing around in the  crowded outdoor restaurant, so I kept fucking up and misdialing because of the weird buttons and floppy multi-fold menu.

              It took forever, and a rude little boy kept purposely bumping into me. I made loud huffy noises and moved further away, hoping to get the message across to the kid’s lazy father. It didn’t work and the kid kept bugging me.

              When I managed to poke in the correct number on the menu/phone, the operator running my transaction through tried to counsel me on being wiser with my money, and how maybe going out to eat was an unnecessary expense. I was like, “Yeah, but it’s CHRISTMAS and I’m out with my family to celebrate.”

              I finally completed my transaction and obtained my churros, which weren’t that great. But I couldn’t find the rest of my party, and was in a panic since it was deepest night. I ran down a dirt path bordered by high weeds looking for them, then finally found them at the car.

              *



              In the second part of the dream, I had to use an old person’s walker to get to a new house Anthony was staying at. I scrape-walked miles through Orange to get to it (in the middle of the night of course), and I think it was off of Palmyra. The house was in a tract behind some other houses, with dirt roads and chainlink fence. Pretty ghetto. The house looked monochromatic and shitty at first glance.

              You had to climb up a short ladder to the door hatch, which opened like some kind of submarine or space ship hatch. Anthony met me at the entrance. There was a rack to hang the walker on, and I had to chain it up like a bike so nobody would steal it. I had a hard time maneuvering the ladder and the chaining of the walker, which Anthony had no patience for. Once inside you had to climb down another short ladder through a very narrow and claustrophobic chute. I got really nervous and ill-tempered with Anthony because he was lagging in front of me, keeping me trapped in that little space. It was lined with shag carpeting.

Shag carpeting everywhere. Mostly mustardy shades. Was it the '70s?


              Then we emerged into the main house which was large and interesting.

              At first I thought we had bought the house together, but then realized he was renting, and there were MANY other roommates. There were hip young people everywhere. Not sure why we weren’t living together, like maybe it was before we cohabitated.

              As Anthony was leading me off to his room a guy who looked sort of like Perez Hilton but not quite as faggy stopped me to ask if it was true that I worked in a library. I said yes, and he immediately pulled out his wallet and offered me his business card, then wanted me to just look through his whole wallet, which he seemed very proud of. It was full of arty paper crafts featuring children’s picture book style art. I couldn’t really figure out what the deal with all of it was, or what HIS deal was. But I was trying to be nice. I couldn’t find anything that looked like an actual business card. I told him I was Anthony’s husband, just to make sure that was understood, and he said, “Yeah, like, we all know that already.” Good, I thought. But I still couldn’t find a business card in all that paper artiness. Confused, I just handed his wallet back and took off after Anthony.

              A weird guy with dark hair kept following Anthony around and hanging all over him. The Perez Hilton guy also caught up with Anthony and me.

              We were hanging out on a bare mattress, nothing sexual, just sitting there talking in some common room where a bunch of the bohemian inhabitants had gathered. Then Perez gave me a pointed look and said, “You better warn him what’s coming up behind,” and nodded toward Anthony. I looked behind Anthony and that god damn brunette dude was crawling across the mattress behind him, and actually lunged up to HUG him. Anthony was startled, like a deer in the headlights as the brunette hung all over him. I lost it and told the guy to back the fuck OFF, because that was MY HUSBAND. I was totally posturing like a tough guy, until the weird guy backed down and took off.

              Then I was mad at Anthony for not telling the guy to get away from him. Some of the other roommates made me feel guilty for taking my jealousy out on Anthony, so I apologized.

              It seemed like all the other roommates were working on fascinating art/craft projects. Why were they all so artsy and creative? How had they all happened to end up there together?

Heads up, chicken butt!
              Finally Anthony and I were alone in his room, but one whole wall of it was open to the hallway, and another bedroom. Right across from us a strange girl was curled up in a drawer that had been pulled out onto the carpet. The floor around her was littered with craft projects. She had a strip of cloth wrapped tightly around one arm, making me think she was a junky. But she was funny and nice. She and another girl were making a garland of plush animal heads and I was SO interested in that. There was also a garland nearby that was strung with little toys, like vinyl figures.

              I woke up wanting churros, and thinking about making garlands from stuffed animal parts and vinyl figures.

IN THE DREAMHOUSE: 3-headed sock puppet

          A few nights ago I had this surreal dream (hard to describe) that involved sock puppets I had made, and putting on a show with them, and stringing little Christmas tree lights through them for eyes. There was also playground equipment; swings hanging from chains, that sort of thing. I levitated up to a chalked gymnastics bar and was performing puppet shows on the monkey bars or whatever they were. Before I went to bed I had NOT been drinking or smoking anything, so I'm not sure why my dreams were so loopy.
This was my first attempt at drawing the 3-headed sock puppet from my dream
          The first time I tried drawing that 3-headed puppet, my creative license took over and I made it too cute, with a little hat and some props. Then I realized the REAL 3-headed sock puppet with lights for eyes looked more like this:
More lumpen, less jaunty
          Now maybe I can stop thinking about that stupid puppet.

DUMPSTER DIVING : sickroom toilet

I love a man who's willing to go this far for comedy.
          Whoever left this NEXT to the dumpster instead of INSIDE it must have thought, "It's new, still in the plastic, it would be a shame for this lovely wheeled sickroom toilet to go to waste! Someone will want it."
          They probably envisioned some decrepit old person in the throws of some depressing illness spotting the little toilet out by the dumpster and crying, "Oh, how delightful! I was just NEEDING one of those nearby because I keep shitting myself uncontrollably. This is a good day indeed."
          When Anthony and I spotted it, we joked and then I said, "You know, someone should really take it over to the senior center downtown, I bet THEY could easily find someone who needed it."
          Anthony was like, "Well, go ahead then."
          I stared at it. It's obviously new and unwrapped. But it's still a toilet. By the dumpster. A grim little sickroom toilet. Reminder of the inevitable indignities of old age and failing health.
          I walked away, feeling guilty.
          But not before we had Anthony pose for me to take a silly picture, both of us giggling like assholes.