And a very happy fuck you too…

My mother called to wish us a happy five year anniversary but she can never just have a nice little moment she always has to throw a lil something in there. My side of the family tends to be a glass half empty kinda bunch, not just empty more like the poke you in the eye so you can be as miserable as the rest of us.
I think her exact words were ” happy aniversary.
me”-awwhh thanx, how have you been”
Her- I’ve been home from work for the last two weeks, your father is getting bad, I don’t think he’s going to be around much longer”
My dad has been sick for awhile now and going down hill so it wasn’t a surprise, it’s just sometimes she has little tact.
I don’t really know how to deal with all this. I’m an adult, I should know how to deal with this but my relationship with my father has never been an awesome one. I use to laugh when I told people the shitty stories of my childhood thinking they were normal. Don’t get me wrong, my dad worked hard, we always had food on the table, we usually got the things we wanted. As I look back I know now that he was just fucking mad.
When I was little I use to roller skate outside all summer long, maybe that’s why I play roller derby now. One time I fell and scraped my knees, I was bleeding all over the place, you know like kids do. My father, who was not one for blood, instead of taking care of me or throwing out a kind word said, “good, let her bleed, she shouldn’t be doing that shit anyway” I’m still not not sure what shit I shouldn’t be doing, skating, falling, being a kid, what ever..
When I was about 10 I cracked my head open while riding, or I guess falling off my bike. My dad worked 2nd shift at Briggs and Stratton, he would call home every day to see how things were going. When my mom told him that I had to have stitches he came all the way home from work, screamed at me, screamed at my mom for letting me get hurt, and then threw my bike across the yard and told me I would never ride it again. And I never rode it again that summer.
When I was in high school I was working on a drawing on the living room floor in an attempt to be social. I was apparently being a bitchy teenager because he out of the blue told me that I was a bitch and that I was never going to get anywhere with art and that I should find something real to do. At least he was kinda right about that.
After I left the house I tried to forgive my parents for my shitty people skills and my lack of emotion  that they instilled in me. I learned how real families talk to each other and interact from my in-laws.

People change over time, and after my dad retired he wasn’t quite as blunt or mean but there’s part of me that just can’t get over all the shit we went though. It pisses me off that everything that is wrong with him now was self inflicted from years of smoking and drinking and not taking care of him self. Poor decisions accumulate over the years creating a boulder rolling down hill that will eventually pick up enough steam to catch up with you.

That first part was a draft I started a few days ago.

Today I got a text from my sister -in-law saying that my dad was in the hospital. I know I’m a state away but I’m always the last to know. At least she was kind enough to loop me in. I know I’m going to get that call, or god forbid that text, or worse yet and facebook message about how my father has lost his struggle and is now at peace or some bull shit. How do you go home and say goodbye to a parent? How do you look the other in the eye after the fact? Everyone treats me like I’m still a little girl who cant take the bad news. I think it will be hardest for me because I still have a little care left in me and a whole lot of good old catholic school guilt. 12 years of 10 commandments and turning the other cheek, love your mother and father and forgive those who trespass against you, blah blah. It’s hardest to forgive those who screwed you up the most.

The moral of the story is that I’m mixing a relaxation drink with vodka to put myself to bed and this whole story is going no where fast. You can piss people off by living or by dying but if you kick it you don’t have to listen to them bitch anymore.


Sometimes life is best described by a musical.

“I’ve heard it said That people come into our lives for a reason Bringing something we must learn And we are led To those who help us most to grow If we let them And we help them in return Well, I don’t know if I believe that’s true But I know I’m who I am today Because I knew you…

– Wicked,  For Good

Everyone has that one friend that no matter how long you go with out seeing them you can instantly connect with them the minute you are together again. Someone who accepts all your faults and encourages all the good things in you. Someone who inspires you. Your partner in crime. I just got to spend a long weekend with mine.

When we got relocated to Michigan my biggest fear was that I would loose myself. I would move away from my job, the people who inspired me, and I would loose that spark inside of me that pushed myself to be better.

I was fortunate enough to find a job right out of school that embodied everything I was, creating things and solving problems. At that job there were a handful of people who were like me, with the same ideas and wants, and the desire to create. My relationship with my partner in crime formed there over 6 years. We would come into work almost every morning with new ideas to share. One idea would lead to another and then another until we were creating fantastic worlds full of costumes and props. It was never an attempt to one up each other but instead every time one of us thought of something the other would build on it, or maybe head off in a related yet unrelated direction.

When we moved I lost all the people who pushed me creatively. It’s like cutting off your hands and having your eyes poked out. I moved and found myself in a group of people who delivered dirty looks for my crazy dyed hair and tattoos and after feeling like I had a real family I found myself in a foster home where I really didn’t fit in. It can be really over whelming when you feel like you can’t be yourself.

Slowly I’ll find my way back. I started finding people who are more like me and more accepting of who I am. Roller Derby helps with that.

I cherish the time I get with my partner in crime. Even if it’s just fabric shopping, or watching a movie that we’ve both seen a hundred times while we drink and bitch. She’s like therapy for me. She helped make me who I am today. I hope she knows how inspirational she is to everyone she meets. Thanx girl, I better get to work on all those projects we talked about. First up- Steampunk purse! ❤ you!

The things we do part 2

Everyone has things in life that they regret doing, or maybe not even regret but question after they have done it. I spent a lot of time going back and forth about a decision to put portraits of 3 of my dogs on my arm. Now most rational people would say that’s a dumb idea, who puts portraits of their dogs on their arms? Dumb people like me I guess. You have to understand that my dogs are my kids, not just my kids but my laughter, my struggle, my sanity (most of all) and my love. I know people think I’m the crazy dog lady who would rather have a litter of puppies rather than a baby but I look at people with kids and wonder how they live with out a dog (or 2).
Recently, well almost a year ago that feels like yesterday still with the pain in my heart, our first dog, (my husband and I together), Marvin passed away. We had to put him to sleep and it was all my fault. The girl who loved her dogs more than life its self feed him a giant bone and left him unattended for 10 minutes. In those 10 minutes he ate the entire thing and shattered my heart. We spent 2 weeks on a rotation of vets and emergency vet stays with Pancreatitus and a heart condition and liver trouble, all from a stupid bone. We had to let him go on August 23, 2011. It was the hardest decision I’ve ever made. He was in so much pain, and spent his last days locked up in a vet hospital cage instead of laying in the sunshine of the patio door like he loved to do. I have had countless nights since that I have cried myself to sleep because of his loss. I had a dog growing up, but Marvin was my baby, my responsibility, and my companion. I’d be lying if I said that it’s all better now, that I don’t cry every once in a while about him, more than I should, most people would say for a dog. We adopted a dog while Marvin was still alive, an Australian cattle dog named Foster and she went though the same grieving process. I opened my heart to another Cattle dog named Astro just 6 months after Marvin passed away, not to replace him by any means, but I still had a lot of love in my heart and If I could save one more dog from a cold cage than I would.
Now you know the back story… and my insanity. I wanted to pay tribute to the creatures who keep me sane, drive me crazy sometimes, teach unconditional love and forgiveness, are always there when I need a friendly face and have given me a reason to get up everyday. 3 Portraits of my dogs went up on my arm this past Sunday, 1/4 sleeve, shoulder to elbow. It was bigger than I intended for clarity and detail. Once I make a decision I run with it. I forget about what other people will think or maybe I don’t care, or maybe I just think I don’t care. After some comments like “oh wow”, not “OH WOW that’s awesome!”, more like “oh wow you are a moron”. Tone- It’s an important thing. And “are those your dogs?” No moron cashier, I just picked some random floating dog heads to drop a bunch of cash on. But my favorite so far is the “oh let me see it!” and the awkward silence and nodding that follows. They are good tattoos, they are good portraits and it’s not done yet.
Tattoos use to be taboo, only sailors and inmates had them. I know more people who have at least one tattoo then people who have none. Yes I’ll still have a job, and yes I can still get another job. If an employer doesn’t like it then maybe that’s not the place that’s right for me, and if I really have to they make these things called long sleeve shirts. At the end of the day I get to take my babies with me everywhere. Marvin is always with me and now I can look down and see his face. I guess I don’t care if you like, just ignore it if you don’t agree with it. When it’s filled in it will be a piece of living art and a tribute to the things that mean the most to me.
Everyone has stuff they do that is questionable or regrettable but I don’t regret any of my tattoos, they each tell a story of a time in my life and come with a memory.

The things we do

First things first, I’m starting this blog for me, not for you. So if you read it, sweet, if not, oh well. Sometimes you just need a place to put your feelings and thoughts so you know where to find them.  You might find some stuff here that you don’t like, don’t take it personally. I swear, I bitch, my sarcasm is over whelming  and I come up with things that could be taken as offensive. Sometimes I don’t make sense, sometimes I make too much sense. Welcome to my journey.