Monday, November 28, 2005

I was contemplating the future subject matter of my paintings when I thought, "Hermaphroditic mer-people...yes Ma'm!"
They swam towards me as if in a vision; their scaly fins caressing my inner ear as they emitted baritone moans and snorted baby hammerheads. Snorting baby sharks is like heroin for those mer-nare-do-wells. It is only surpassed in potency by Humpback Crack, which is a favorite among heat-packin octopi (and Whitney Houston).

Sunday, November 27, 2005

Carnie vs. Cassie

Mmmmmm, clean livin' feels good. I went to the gym today. To give you some context, the last time I worked out Nick and Jessica were still in newly nympho-ed marriage bliss. Now I am "Healthy Ali," purveyor of parsnips (what is a parsnip really? I actually have no idea....I am a SLAVE to alliteration I tell you...). I owe the brand new me to pilates, the Kabbalah, and the mellifluous vocal stylings of Carnie Wilson. Carnie was on 20/20 recently, she done plumped up again. She better watch out for those ham sammiches lest she meet the same fate as Mamma Cass. Cass was somehow cooler though right? She really had a handle on the whole morbidly obese "thang." Carnie is a much diluted version of that kind of self-loathing fueled eating. She is, ironically, "Cass Light." Fewer calories, but she can't rock the cellulite the same way. Anyway, I have not had a cigarette in almost 3 days. Mom, I know you're proud. We'll see how long my impulse control will last tomorrow in the mornin'time. To make up for my discipline in this arena, I will have to relinquish control in others. I guess I WILL get that fancy clavicle tattoo that I always wished for. It's going to say: "This is my clavicle. It's far enough above my chest to be classy. Heath Huxtable 4-EVA."

Friday, November 25, 2005

So, I spent a gravy-filled, potato packed Thanksgiving at my favorite fiery red-head's. That is the ever-irreverent Erin Smith for those of you who don't know her. She is a pistol. And not the kind that is capped off with a fake orange top, she is the real deal. Smith without the Wesson. The kind of pistol wielded by a hunch-backed Charlton Heston as he lunges awkwardly toward the nearest spittoon. What do you think Charlton and Tom Selleck do at their meetings? I'm thinking that there is some covert weapon-stroking that goes on in the secret man-sauna at the dude ranch. I'm sure the "Bareback Mountain" screening will go over well. Then there's the lil' Triggers in Training (TIT would be their inaccurate acronym.) Their only duty is to be well-oiled with big, long gun-cleaning instruments (which they shove convincingly into the barrels). Have I gone too far? Is Charton Heston going to smother me to death with his stringy neck skin? Stay tuned to find out....DA DA DUM.

Monday, November 21, 2005

I TA'd all day and then saw a really canine-a-licious performance by Indian Princess Amelia, Jules Buckstar Jones (amongst others, who I don't feel like giving glib monikers). Earlier in the day my lovely lil' students gave me cupcakes---and by doing so, stripped me of my dignity. I ate like 12.
Sooooooo, I'm now on a sugar low. I gots' the shakes real bad. But alas, one cannot rationally carry around an IV filled with creamy icing goodness. But if ONE were irrational, well, a whole world of confectionary fulfillment would be possible... Bearclaw belly-rings, creme brulee inhalers, cinammon bun syringes... I could go on, but don't worry I won't.
Other news: I am happy and I have a functioning DVD player. Life is gooood.

Saturday, November 19, 2005

The masked maurader blogger returns!

I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack (insert spooky Chucky photo here.)

So I am done with mah shows, and I can now reclaim my life. I'm using the term "life" fairly liberally, seeing as how my days will now be spent watching Judge Judy's menopausal episodes in my underwear while consuming any cheese-related product available. That's just how I roll. My momma is in town now and fixing up my apartment for me. She is slightly disturbed by my lack of furniture and overall subhuman lifestyle. But she loves me anyways! Hoorah!
The opening last night at Art Palace was fab, lots of people. One weird dude kept telling me my paintings were like a peyote visionquest. I was very flattered until he exhaled pure whiskey onto my face. He was a strange, drunken man. And I was probably an equally drunk, strange woman. I get all gushy when I drink nowadays, like everyone becomes my "favorite." Perhaps this is to counteract my usually frigid Norwegian Ice Princess demeanor.