Happy Birthday, Iris! <3

Decided to trade in the Matrix (giant money suck) for something less spendy. Any recommendations for reliable autos on the cheap?

I've been out of work for about two months.

At first I was okay with it. I was sort of even looking forward to it. I was wiped out from work, totally drained, mentally exhausted, and felt completely dehumanized. It was time for a break.

And I had propositions. Lots of them! At one point, I stupidly thought I'd have to make a choice between two great jobs. I was on top of the world. Confidence level through the roof. The world, it was mine! One by one, all my prospects dried up. I had pretty much gotten to the end of my rope, and ended up burning one very important bridge in the process. I will regret this probably forever. I can't change it, but I can't shake it either.

I'm trying to put a brave face on. I'm trying to keep it together.

We have a move scheduled next week. We could not afford this move, but it had to be done. The deposit was huge, we had to purchase a washer and dryer, blah blee bluh. Don't misunderstand -- I'm super excited about the new house, but it also comes with a ton of fears that I don't even know how to articulate. I'm trying to get the house packed. I have to figure out how to repair all the damage that's been done to our current house before the 1st. Thinking about it literally makes me nauseated.

I feel like a burden to my husband, my family, my roommate, my friends. Every time I hear myself talking about being unemployed, I want to punch myself in the mouth. Even I don't want to hear it anymore. I know there's nothing out there. I know what it's like. And now, I am wiped out, totally drained, mentally exhausted, and completely dehumanized. I need to work. But there's nothing out there. Friends who have kindly offered help have sort of fallen back in to the woodwork. It's hard for me to ask for help, so I probably won't ask again. I can't really explain how it feels, but it feels, um, bad. Yep.

I don't feel like myself. I don't feel like much of anything.

So full of delicious BBQ. Amazing weekend away. I'm so in love. I'm really, really lucky.

Happy birthday, my sweet baboo. You make my life wonderful.

I desire... macaroni pictures.

So, this will be my first deathguild in approximately 46 years. Do you kids still listen to Bauhaus?

Dear neurodancer:

No matter how many times I say "I love you", it will never be enough. You are my heart.

All my love,

Your Wife.

So, as predicted, the pain amnesia pretty much disappeared as soon as he got near the elbow, which was basically three nanoseconds in to the session. Before he started, we went down the laundry list of things to fix/change/add:

Half sleeve on other arm, covering up (possibly integrating) stars on left bicep.
Eventual full back piece, covering up tramp stamp of olde and my VERY FIRST ill advised flash art crescent moon on shoulder. Shut up. I was 17.
Some sort of matching outer calf something or other. Haven't decided yet. As it stands, I only have one limb left that is completely untouched.

This is approximately thirty thousand hours of tattooing, times $175/hr... comes to... Over five million dollars. So there's that.

So I'm laying there, sweating, making deals with god, listening to Barnaby's ridiculous jokes, trying not to look like a wuss, failing at that, sobbing quietly, and thinking about the several thousand hours of all this I have left to go.

Okay, it's really not that bad. Honestly. And this is not new pain amnesia, even when I was sitting there, I thought "Okay, this really sucks, but it's only bad near my joints -- and it's more annoying than anything else." But it's REALLY ANNOYING. I mean, it's annoying because it fucking hurts like a motherfucker, but it's not the sort of "I just broke a limb" kind of hurt. It's not even as bad as a severe headache. Headache is worse. Broken limbs: worse. Marshmallow cloud: decidedly better. The worst thing about this whole experience is the healing. And it's not the pain of healing. It's the plasma. Oh, the plasma. Like, where the fuck and I supposed to lay down? Why am I sticking to everything? Do I wear a long sleeved shirt to bed (that will be stuck to my skin in the morning), or do I wear a tank top (and ooze disgusting sadness all over my bed sheets/husband/cat)?

HOW DO YOU PEOPLE DEAL WITH THIS. I always forget to ask.

So, we did all color this session. I have color. On my arm. There is color. And there is like, EVERY COLOR IN THE WORLD present. It's MILLIONS (okay, or like four) OF COLORS. He asked me what my favorite color was, and I told him I wanted magenta and orange against the black and grey background. THERE IS YELLOW AND PURPLE ON MY ARM. Granted, the yellow is just added to the florals for a dash of realism. I'm not sure about this purple though. I think I should have just left it black and grey. I HAVE MADE A HUGE MISTAKE. But, Jason, Joanne, Dave, Syd, Iris and my mom all like it. It's growing on me. I'll feel better when my arm is back to it's regular size. I think.

The lighter colors are freaking me out. The cherry blossoms (I am the last lemming on the cherry blossom bandwagon) are a lighter pink, and you can really tell that the skin is just um, horribly shredded. I mean, it's perforated, I suppose. I don't know why I was surprised to see this. I was sort of like, "Holy shit, THAT'S what happens?!" Sashie: So wise. So graceful.

Tomorrow is the big day! Well, tomorrow is a big day -- not THE big day. I'm already married, I've seen a baby born after staring at joannevicious's vagina for what felt like an eternity, and I saw Barack Obama handily defeat the Sad Grandpa. Those were all "the" big days, this is more of "a" big day.

What I'm referring to, of course, is my next tattoo appointment! I've gone back and read my entry of record a few times, trying to remember the quiet desperation in my sad, sad keystrokes, and I must confess: I am suffering from pain amnesia. Was it really that bad? Was it? I remember sticking to the sheet. I remember the scabs, and the itching, and the big crocodile tears. But really, was it that bad?

Aw, fuck.

WTF? Why is there a "Yes on 8" ad on lj.com's front page? Thank god I have a paid account.

Halloween Costume: Obtained. Finally. I pretty much phone it in every year, so this year will be no different. In my head, everything is perfect and fits like a glove and I look about eighty pounds lighter. In reality, nothing will actually fit, I'll have to take everything to be altered (read: let out eighty inches all over) and I'll look like a nightmarish version of Liza Minelli and Michael Jackson's bastard lovechild.

Tattoo: Coming along! My sweet diabolika came with me for symbolic hand holding, with a minimum of pity. I learned many valuable lessons, such as: don't take drugs beforehand AND during -- should be one or the other, but prooooooobably neither. Also, you probably should not take double the prescribed dose. I am smart as a whip. You can admit it. I am the smartest person you know.

I don't know what it is, but I always suffer some sort of "pain amnesia" when it comes to tattooing. When it's being done, I want to die, when it's over, I want to die, when it's oozing plasma and I have to wash it off, I want to die. (Note: when imagining me washing plasma and yuckiness off, it's important to also hear me whimpering in the background -- usually I stick to "OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODEWEWEWWWWWWWWWWWW", but plain douchey sobbing noises work too.) When it's all healed, I either completely forget the pain and become annoyed that is still isn't fucking finished, or I manage to convince myself that it's not really THAT BAD, and to stop being such a wuss. Sometimes both. Usually I come to my senses whenever I've actually managed to make the appointment. I often fantasize about the appointment being "lost" or "not on the books" or "rescheduled for next week" or "never existed in the first place" on the way there. This is usually not the case, and in the interest of appearing tough and super cool, I go through with the torture. This is one of the great mysteries of the universe. Why do I put myself through this?

Since I'm all about making ridiculous claims and then contradicting them: SMALL tattoos are not a big deal. I can deal with a small tattoo. Those are not a problem. When half of one of your limbs is basically a giant, open, festering wound, then you can tell me how it doesn't hurt, jerks.

I realize there are some people that ENJOY the process of being tattooed. I think those people are lying. Actually, let me clarify: I very much enjoy the end result of tattooing. I am a huge fan. But if there were a way for me to have general anesthesia for the actual tattooing and resulting healing process, I would gladly trade those precious hours of my life. I honestly believe that at the end of my life, I would still be okay with it.

When all is said and done, I will have spent ten hours on this VERY AMBITIOUS partial sleeve. I mean, I think it's ambitious. I have seen work that is little more than a large cluster of half a dozen stars of varying sizes referred to as a "sleeve". Allow me to disagree with this designation. That is like wrapping a piece thread around your arm seven times and calling it a shirt sleeve. Seriously.

So, I'm on day two of healing. Day one is gross plasma day, where you're covered in A&D ointment (no comments, peanut gallery), you never know whether to put a long sleeved shirt on, you don't want to sit on the couch because you're oozing all over everything, so you lay a sheet down, which you eventually stick to and have to peel yourself out, cursing the heavens in futility. Day one is the worst day of your life.

Day two means my (so far) entirely black and grey sleeve is at this moment:
Black
Grey
Green
Greenish Brown
Red
FUCKING RED
Orange
Various Bruise Coloring

Day two is usually when the pain memories start to fade, and everything looks hopeful. You decide that perhaps your arm is NOT gangrenous, and you optimistically un-bookmark the discount prosthetic limb e-store. (I call this the "magic hour". I'm going to tag this entry to remind myself. NEVER FORGET, SASHIE.) It's the unsexiest thing in the entire world, and no, I am not posting photos yet. When it's not swollen up like a ball park frank and the color of a swamp, I will happily post pictures. It's going to look fantastic, though. I have no doubt.

AWESOMING III:

AWESOMING'S REVENGE

COMING 1 NOVEMBER 2008

PREPARE TO AWESOME YOUR FACE OFF

Details forthcoming. Mark those calendars.

Seeing a wildfire growing larger from your dining room window is one thing, but not finding any information on it is QUITE ANOTHER.

I think it's in Marin, but I'm still nervous.

The Greatest Picture Of All Time.

You're welcome.

I just tried on every single pair of pants I own. It is official. I am part manatee.

DON'T ASK WHY THE TV WAS ON THE CW. Nothing to see here, move along.