Wednesday, August 31, 2005

ALAINA AGAIN.


I was just watching this coverage of the New Orleans disaster, and got all weepy. And not just because I'm on MENSIES! Gawd, so many people are homeless and jobless now. It's such a magnificent city too. Jesus Christ, what mother nature hath wrought.
Ok, I didn't want this blog to be a buzzkill. I just thought I would drop my sardonic uber-bitchy persona for one moment.

Anyway, all that sadness gots me to thinkin' about what I should be grateful for. This is what I came up with:

--Old "MASH" reruns. I really have a crush on Alan Alda. I think I need to seek help.
--The freshman 15 (now that I'm watching everyone else gain it)
--But most of all, I am thankful for my best friend and platonic lifemate Alaina. See photomontage at left.
Also, pirate parties. Seriously, that was the best night of my life. The swordplay was almost too enjoyable. "Swordgasm."

Tuesday, August 30, 2005


Well, tomorrow I have to wake up before noon. Arggggggggh (slight Charlie Brown intonation). I am TAing two drawrin' classes on Mon. and Wed: we shall see how dat shit goes down. I like UT students in general, but there's always the sorority booty-shorters and the frattastic duuuuudes who have perma-keg imprints on their glutes. Jesus, why can't everyone just be a freak? Wouldn't life be more interesting if we encountered a roller-skating troupe of Abba impersonators on our way to work? Or if we saw some hula-hooping geriatric headcase at our local fast-stop? (that actually happened to me here in Austin).
I don't know, all those innocent freshman are moving in right now for orientation. Their shiny newness reminds me of just how tarnished I am. Here's an apt metaphor that I used when I wrote as a jaded senior in college:
"Freshman are like greyhounds: bony, beautifully groomed and ready to chase some stupid carrot in circles forever. Seniors (such as myself), are more like three-legged ferrets bred on moonshine who seek to spread rabies whenever possible."

Monday, August 29, 2005

Me on a bidet!














I have little to offer my dear bloggonians. School is starting on Wed. so I am just doing stupid preparatory shiznit to get ready.
Ok, actually I've just been eating a lot of cottage cheese in my undies. But I can't do that once school starts!
Unless I assist/teach for a nudist dairy-luvah. They should bring someone in to fill that position. Add some more diversity. I can picture her now: A thick Wisconsin accent and an overpowering muenster scent. Lactating as she dry-heaves mozzarella.

In the meantime dear readers, enjoy this uber-sexy picture of me on a tiny toilet in Spain. I was actually discussing the "history" of the bidet with some of my friends this weekend, if anyone knows anything please chime in. I'm sure it has a colorful and distinguished past.

Sunday, August 28, 2005


OOf, had a rager last night at Marianne's. Met all the new lil' froshies, although my 2nd year peers didn't want me to "haze" anyone. I guess a hearty ass-paddling and a gauntlet full of diseased crickets is just too free-thinking for some. There is a new guy named Jani, but it is pronounced "Yanni." Like my FAVORITE make-believe musical genius. He has that whole "windswept Grecian whisperer" vibe going for him too. Yanni--the man with the perfect pitch. I asked him to perform some impromptu piano-fused chants, but he just looked at me funny. Although it could have been the crickets I put in his pocket. Hee hee.

In this har' blog I will only mention those new students whose names I approve of . My new studiomate is "Jules Jones." Upon seeing the cheery double-J above our door, I assumed I was getting some June-Cleaver clone whose hairspray would spontaneously combust when she entered my paint-fume filled studio. But Jules is no 70's mom icon. He is very punck rock and has a fu-man-chu. And he is a bit of a liguistic anomaly, with a Julespeak that is all his own. He says "dope" a lot.
Ok, one more thing I hate: the car commercial that goes "Zoom, Zoom, Zoom." It's just so fucking stupid.








This is the Linda Blair Excorcist photo I tried to put on earlier. Spooky, no? She needs some chapstick, baaaaaaaad.

Saturday, August 27, 2005

Old comicccccccs

Well, I am off to meet and greet the new graddies. Ah, I remember my first few weeks in Austin; cloaked in self-pity, my banshee-like wailing silenced only by "King of the Hill" reruns. Missing my dysfunctional Maine art commune family and my drunken Davidson sistahs. Sigh, now I am just another contented Texas cowgirl. Here are a couple comics. They got cut off. Like you care, you naiive amateur critic.

Friday, August 26, 2005

Martian Doing Beer-Bong!!!!!!!!!!


"That's why her hair is so big, it's full of secrets..."
Mean Girls


I always wanted a big, bushy fro. I wish there was some sort of Macy Gray serum that lil' discontent white girls like me could inject into their fine, weak hair shafts. We could call it like "Queen Latifahization." My new hair-happy name would be Ali-Fah.
But there is seriously something alluring about a full, lustrous head of "herrr" (I like Nelly-style spelling).
Actually, it was so fucking hot yesterday that I thought about shaving my head. I would be more tempted to do it if my friends hadn't voted me "the person who would look worst with a shaved head." I'm not making that up. I guess I have an abnormally bumpy head. My scalp dips and rises like the deep Nordic fjords.
Ok. Now onto razorburn! Just kidddddddding.
Above is a picture of me dressed as a Martian doing a beer-bong. Note the planets on my shirt and the over-abundance of tin foil skirts. Those lasted about half an intergalactic second.

Thursday, August 25, 2005

Texas Heat


Hmmmmm, I am far too braindead to be funny today. It is hot outside. Like, really ridiculously hot. Like "I'm hiking up the giant, mountainous, sweaty balls of Paul Bunyan" hot. Ew, I sort of made myself wretch there. No, not really. Bunyan's balls are bun-yummy.
See! I did make a funny. Ok, so I know people (my friends) are reading this, but are not posting comments. What's that about? Post some shit weirdos. I'm self-involved, but need some more catalysts in order for my self-absorption to really shine.
Dave Woody sent me some awesome comics yesterday: early zippy the pinhead, flaming carrot thingy, and some by Adrian Tomine. Woody is goody. He may even be greaty.
Also, my mother, who may actually be the only person reading mah blog, wants me to rescind an earlier proclammation that she was "butch." In reality, she braided my locks until they looked like spun gold, made fondue every night, and NEVER, NEVER challenged me to a fight. Happy mom? Please don't pummel me to death with your genteel waifish fingers. They were made only for skinny cigarette holders and removing coral lipstick stains.
Pictured above is a Texas teen who was upset to learn that his school's cross-dressing day had been OUTLAWED. Oh, for shame! Some backward-ass gap-toothed illiterate apparently thought is was unhealthy for boys to dress like girls. He is awesome though isn't he? I think we all feel like that dude sometimes.

Monday, August 22, 2005

limericks and hate.













Prepare to be enthralled dear readers, (vaudevillian jig-dancing and man-whistles commence...), for tonight you will hear things that will alcoholate, barbituate and titillate you (Yes I realize those words are used incorrectly, stop being a gramma-hater.)
Firstly, I am going to write down a list of things/people I hate! Pessimistic? You're calling me pessimistic? A pox on your house.
Whatever, we're all going to be dismembered and ritually devoured when the aliens come anyway. Thanks Tom! Scientology makes so much sense! And post-partum depression CAN certainly be cured with some good old-fashioned missionary sex and Flintstone vitamins!
-I hate it when:
-----people ask me to rub sunscreen on their backs. So does Eliza Wright, in fact, I stole that "hate" from her. Sorry Eliza, I just am too sunny in my disposition to really hate things! (insert annoying LOL symbol thingy here.) :):):):0
-----people use stupid web lingo like LOL and TTYL. Don't tell me to "laugh out loud," mutha fucker. Go play Snood. Or google image Carmen Elektra some more, I'm sure the first 120000 attempts were "grainy."
Whew, too many hates to talk about. I feel a little like Linda Blair when she projectile vomits split pea soup. Too much or not enough? Ahhhhhh, just right.
Ok, I wanted to insert a photo of the veggie-spewing delight here. Alas, my computer is like a fucking petulant stepchild. If only I had some method of insuring mechanical pain. I'll learn you somethin' laptop! So you think you're better than me, do you? Well, your mother was a whore! She shared files all around town. Um, her hard drive was floppy? Ok, I really don't know computer terms well enough to make this a funny scenario. But I do really want to whack the bejeezus out of this thing.
Sooooooooo, I added an old work of mine above. It's an installation at Skowhegan. Painting on the walls and yada, yada.

Sunday, August 21, 2005



"I'll join this conversation on the proviso that we stop bitching about people, talking about wigs, dresses, bust sizes, penises, drugs, nightclubs, and bloody Abba!"
"Doesn't give us much to talk about then, does it?"
From Priscilla, Queen of the Desert

My favorite Abba song: Waterloo. It just makes you want to get up and spear someone with your Napoleonic bayonet. Maybe a Swede. Nice and blonde like Agnetha or any of the other Abba-lonians. Now if only I could locate my yellow velvet 85 lb. pantsuit (sequined sexiness is heavy, my friends.)
I am currently moving into my old/new apt. By "moving" I mean sitting on a stool (not much furniture yet...) in my bra and watching "Evita." Moving is difficult and this is the sabbath after all. I believe in apatheticism. Idleness is next to godliness. Kill everyone! Condone first degree murder! (That last bit is from the John Waters staple "Pink Flamingos")
This week I need to get in the studio (for the love of Apathy!). Because next week I will be back working for the "man." TAing, while fairly easy and fun, results in some sort of brain atrophy for me. Over the course of the semester, it becomes increasingly difficult to expell the ringing complaints of 40 students.

Sidestory: My roommate and I had a little cucaracha problem. Here is a picture of me with some of my "friends."

Saturday, August 20, 2005

Last night I went to the Austin Museum of Art for their "22 To Watch" exhibit, and then to the home of a Fe-mulleted Czech Giant (AKA Hana). Everyone smelled like whiskey (or did I smell like whiskey? chicken or the egg I guess). Plus, there was venision chilli that apparently was "incredibly tender." Who makes venision chilli? Hana Hillerova, Eastern European amazon and omnipotent Austin scenester. But regardless of the gamey meat (and gamier cocktails), I had fun. Now I am going to curl up and watch "Coal Miner's Daughter." Sissy Spacek: yes please. Although nothing could really ever top her telekinetic shitstorm in "Carrie." I have referenced that movie like 5 times in the past week, and received very unsatisfactory responses. Most of the people I talked to hadn't even seen "Carrie." That can't be normal can it? How can they go on living? I wish I had Carrie's cwazy eyes so I could impale them with a cantaloupe spoon. Those are really pointy, I bet it would HURT.
Reading material for the day:

Friday, August 19, 2005


When I was but a small lass (in the wee hills o' Virginia Beach ), I wanted desperately to join the girls scouts. I would have even joined the Brownies (with more than a little disdain but still). Seriously, don't be fooled by those tricky "Brownies." Contrary to their spongy, nutty-sounding name, they ain't got no confectionary nuthin'. Oh, so I'm too old to go to the meetings now? Get something besides soggy carrot sticks you cunts in training.
Whew. I just. Hate. Those. Bitches. But alas, my mother was a naval commander (and frankly, a little butch) and would not allow me to frolic amongst my saccharine sisters. Sooooo, she made me join Tae-Kwon-Do instead. Here is what I learned: how to do a really offensive feaux Korean accent (think the Karate Kid meets Rainman), how to "booby-punch" my sister until her lil' mammary glands swelled up like bath toys, and who could forget the classic, "how to kick tiny anglo boys in their freshly formed biscuits."
Yes, I learned a lot from that asian shopping center in VA. But if I was in the Girl Scouts or a part of some other "let's commune with hedgehogs" type of naturey shiznit, I am convinced that I would have learned this:








P.S. Am going to AMOA for 22 to watch. Should be loverly. Had to beg for tickets. Don't they know that I'm integral to the arts scene? Who else is going to dribble merlot on themselves while garbling about reality t.v.? No one, that's who.

Thursday, August 18, 2005


Last night I went over to this phat house that Caitlin Haskell (her aliases: the evil cupcake, the equally evil art historian and demonic tennis player) is housesitting. It was tres swanky. There was a lot of biz-nass talk, which made me feel a little like the fuck-up artist that I am. Yes, I felt as though I was adorned with multiple berets and an array of body odors(complete with cigarette stench and anarchist factoids!). Hell, I even felt French. Or like a tight-wearing Corey Feldman amongst the Royal Shakespeare Company.
Oh readers, surely you will tire of my pop trivia, much as the public grew weary of the high-pitched whinny of our dear, departed friend Corey Feldman. Do you really think that he and Jacko were just friends?
Sidenote: what's the difference between Michael Jackson and an art historian? One's a balmy pedophile and the other is a peevish bibliophile. That's not funny is it? I'm am so groggy.
Today I am going to:
----Find a bed (Just a full, there seems to be a dearth of male models around so I will not be needing a queen anytime soon. Unless I get a lot fatter...hmmm)
-----Work out
------Quit fucking smoking 800 ciggies a day (this resolution probably should go in front of the "working out" one, seeing as I cannot work out with the lung capacity of an asthmatic dwarf.)

Wednesday, August 17, 2005


So I just got back from Julio's Cafe where I enjoyed a nice, albeit "lite" breakfast with J-Rod and my fashionista roommate Erin Curtis. She is so damned glamorous. Next to her I think I look like that picture of Saddam Hussein right after he was captured:
Ladies, you can be fascist-fab too, just google “dictator shopping online” or go straight to http://www.dicts.com/ (you need to read it aloud to get the full effect). Don’t bother IM’ing Saddam though (his name is 2cuteforU.S.) he’s been really bummed lately. On top of missing the Lifetime special entitled “Tyranny of the Heart” (about a love affair between a Britney look-a-like and a grumpy ole’ despot), he missed a bid for a weapon of mass destruction on Ebay.
Saddam is such a mischievious lil' imp. Ok, I must go paint in the studio today, I am still working on this piece based on Tom Robbins "Even Cowgirls Get the Blues." The main character has some pretty great thumbs that bring to mind another appendage.... Plus, I spliced the reverend Jim Bakker with a Buffalo. I am calling him "Tommy Faye Buffalo." There's also some cowering three-headed cowboy castrati and a few scorpions issueing from the crotches of others. Hmmmmm, maybe I should put up a pic, it is a little hard to describe.
On another note, my mother is letting a Korean grad student (in linguistics) stay in my room at home. Imagining her, my mother and my tongue-pierced sister living under one roof is pretty amusing. I smell a sitcom!

Tuesday, August 16, 2005




So I finally gots me a blog.
Many people heard me lamenting the fact that I was not a part of the wonderously dysfunctional blog family. But someody just popped me out! Full of placenta, cynicism and sweeeet liiiiiiiiiiiife. Placenta is a beautiful and misunderstood word I think. See, I can rant about things like that now that I have a blog. It doesn't matter that no one is reading it (save for sticky-fingered Huckbert Janglethorp, an Iowa farmer who needs some release between turnip juicing.)
So, my life in a nutshell: I live in Austin Texas, where you can hear the sound of a thousand tiny penises rising softly every few minutes. Like marble rye bread in a hot-ass Texas oven.
I am a painter of big dykey cowgirls and I think Tammy Faye Bakker is the last living grotesque. She's making a comeback you know...Swoon.
I won't bother you (my fictional public) with the banal aspects of my daily life. It's probably proof enough of my summertime mental state that I'm starting this blog at all. I love you. Oh Adoring fans o' mine.