Excuse Me... I Hate Your Shoes.

I'm going to completely get off track of my workplace today and enlighten you about something I hate. Actually, for those who know me personally, you will understand that I don't just LOVE shoes in general, I own HUNDREDS of pairs and love to look at them... but the question (and shoes, for that matter) that bother me is as follows.

What's the bastard child of Birkenstocks and jelly shoes?

Crocs. The worst thing to happen to footwear since either Birkenstocks or jelly shoes also happens to be uglier than both combined. They're everywhere. Spreading like a virus. They're made of some engineered, bizarre plastic-like substance poured into a mold. They're incredibly wide foam clogs with holes, they make you look like you have duck feet and people are wearing them with everything. Men, women, their unfortunate kids... people are wearing these things in every shade of the neon rainbow.

Does anyone else hear the four horsemen of the Apocalypse stampeding in our direction?

Apparently these "Crocs" are flying off the freaking shelves all over the country, retailers cannot keep them in stock, and the company itself can barely keep up with demand. I will be sick if I start quoting the numbers, but at $30 bucks a pair the big brains behind Crocs are surely laughing themselves all the way to the bank. They're probably as astonished as I am at the popularity of such a hideous thing. This isn't even something you can avoid by fleeing to Canada, people. I know plenty of people that are there now and Crocs have completely invaded Calgary. Even though this whole sordid mess started in Colorado, I'd argue it's even worse up further up north than it is there. It certainly is further west in California!

So... that's a man. Maybe I missed the memo, but since when do men wear anything in colors like this? Especially shoes! A good litmus test to determine whether you should be wearing shoes in a certain color would be to decide if you would wear a shirt in exactly the same shade. If the answer is no, guys, put down the foam shoes and back away slowly. The guys that work for Cal-Trans wear orange shirts. But that's only because there is a very real danger of them being run over by large-scale construction equipment! This guy took his to a new level and added a "stylish" touch to his baby blue Crocs... steel studs. OOOH, manly. What about the lavender ankle socks? Yeah, no retort to that one... that's because the goofy clogs overshadow it, anyway.

I've heard that Crocs began as boat shoes, and I've also heard people describe them as gardening clogs. No matter which, it does not spell fashion. I'm going to guess that most people who wear Crocs don't own a boat OR a garden, and therefore do not have the need to purchase shoes designed specifically for either. And even assuming they did hours of gardening every week, do people need to be wearing those repugnant shoes everywhere else and bumming the rest of us out? No. The ability to hose them off is not criteria for cool shoes in most situations.

Simply put, I defy anyone to successfully justify footwear that looks like this ----------->

The defense of these monstrosities appears to be threefold:

One
Crocs are comfortable. In fact, I believe the Pavlovian and instantaneous response to anyone questioning the sanity of sporting such horrifying shoes is "But they're soooo comfortable!" Ridiculous. Comfort is no excuse for straight up fugly, and I've even heard people who wear them say that they know how ugly their shoes are but don't care because they're comfortable. This has never been a plausible excuse for any bad fashion, foam-based or not. Comfort simply does not excuse ugly. My Gene Simmons Kiss panties are comfortable too, but that doesn't mean I'm going to wear them out to the goddamn grocery store and force the rest of the world look at me in them.

If you have ever seen an episode of TLC's What Not to Wear, you already know that kind of crap excuse does not fly with Stacy and Clinton. In nearly every episode, you will see some tragically fashion-challenged person thrown to the style wolves by those who love them, standing in front of the three-way mirror and vainly attempting to defend some disgusting outfit by saying it's comfortable. Usually Stacy and Clinton will find either a nicer or more humorous way to say it, but the fact that you're comfortable does not change the fact that you look like shit! I will quote Clinton: "The days of defending ugly, chunky shoes are over." Let them go, folks. Into the nearest landfill where they will surely be waiting to come back into style until at least the next millennium. And they'll be ready too; because God knows those abominations will likely never decompose.

Two
Crocs are so easy; perfect for people on the go. Now, I don't know about the rest of you but I learned to tie my shoes when I was in preschool, and I dare say it was something that could possibly be described as a chore for about a week following. After that, I have not found the task difficult and/or time consuming, nor do I recall ever being in such a hurry to get out the door that tying my damn shoes really held me back.

Laziness has never been a good excuse for anything, ever. And that's really what this boils down to. No one is so busy they must wear such poor excuses for shoes. Donald Trump and Bill Gates probably have a lot more shit going on than we all do, but I'm pretty confident they've both still got the 8 or 10 seconds required to tie their shoes. So just because you've got some errands to run today doesn't mean you don't have the time for actual footwear. Don't even get me started on those girls who go out in PJ pants and slippers... that's a rant for another day. But in both cases, the word for it is simply laziness, and it's not an excuse.

Three
Crocs are trendy and celebrities wear them. What are we, sheep? The last time I did something because it was cool was probably when I was in junior high and splatter paint was all the rage. Need I continue...?

Regardless of what you want me to do, I will anyway.

One of the biggest (no pun intended), unpaid celebrity endorsees of Crocs, the current bane of all decent footwear, is Mario Batali. His favorite pair is mind-numbing safety orange.

If I want to know what type of olive oil would best suit my bruschetta recipe or what to do with leftover marinara, I'll go straight to Mario Batali. If I someday find that I have an enormous belly and need help with the age-old decision whether to buckle my belt over it or under it, Mario would definitely be high on my list of approved and knowledgeable consultants. But as with pop singers who insist on becoming actresses... just because you're good at one thing doesn't mean you rock at everything. Fashion is clearly not this man's area of expertise. I mean seriously, would anyone ask for THIS GUY's idea of which shoes are cool?

I'm no supreme expert on footwear. I do not own a clothing boutique, I DO sell clothing online, however I'm also not waving that in everyone's face to prove that I'm an authority on the subject, nor am I trying to tell you that I'm the ultimate decision maker on what's cool and what's not. But I am an ordinary person who possesses common sense and I know what fucking ugly is when I see it. And in this gal's style manual, Crocs = FUGLY.

For those among us requiring scientific research upon which to base an opinion (and for whom my riveting argument thus far was not enough to convince), I give you this site which has the question of Crocs neatly laid out for you in a colorful and convenient pie chart format. Click it:

For the rest of you already nodding your heads in agreement, I bring you the official I Hate Crocs website... people just serious enough to pay for the domain. You can also find them here on MySpace, should you care to join the fight. Yes kids, I already have.

All I'm saying is...
Unless you are this guy (aka the stuff of my nightmares) and/or Mickey Mouse, you should not be wearing giant, brightly colored foam shoes:

Makeup Tips from Vampires?

Ghosthunter has an interesting idea of how makeup should look.

You know cateye makeup? Like the 50's style with the little Cleopatra-looking upturned corners? Yeah... apparently she thinks that she's doing this with her makeup. She even tries to give advice on exactly HOW to do cateyes.

I refer to them instead as "Batwings", which hell, if you saw them, you'd say the same.

In order to keep her identity (as well as my own) fairly hidden, I've transformed a few images to show you the difference between traditional cateye makeup and her batwings.

LEFT: This is what a traditional cateye looks like (with today's makeup, that is). A slight upsweep at the corner of the eyelid from the edge of the eye to (at most) halfway to the browline.

Not so bad, right? Especially with the soft edges of the makeup that we have nowadays, right?

RIGHT: Then comes Ghosthunter's version of the cateye. Super dark, opaque shadows, usually dark grey or an offshoot of black starting beneath the eye, rimming the lid, all the way up to a sweeping peak at the edge of the browline. AKA: The batwing. It reminds me of bad witches in horror movies, or terrible makeup for Halloween .

Truthfully, it actually looks worse than the images above show... this is probably the closest that I can come to the look of her makeup without showing you a photo though.

I KNOW that it's just two days to Halloween and everyone's been dressing up for the past week, but this is a year 'round thing... she even got made up like this for her WEDDING. The only time I've seen her without the batwing makeup was once when she was ill and had JUST rolled out of bed.

How on Earth do you politely tell the fashion-unconscious that they look beastly? I just don't know how without completely crushing her or being fired. After all, being the boss's wife has it's perks in that respect.

I suppose it's too bad that it can't be Halloween year 'round for everyone else. That might be fun.

It's Like a Coughdrop For Your Crotch!

Woohoo! Let's PARTY!

Yeah, right, do I sound like the party type?

Ghosthunter asked us today if we were heading to the Halloween event at a local bar where this "badass" band was playing. I have a friend in this band, and even though he's my friend, I've only seen them play once, and that was because they played at our shop. Yeah, it's THAT good.

I told her that I just don't see myself hanging out in a costume at a bar I hate with a bunch of yokels, the screamy-whiny band, and "RadioWannabe". Yeah, I think THAT'S what I'll start calling her... see the last few entries on the girl who has the radio show that no one listens to. I'm sure we'll be talking more about this one later.

I also let it be known that I had another "party" to attend... one that involves lots of comfort food, folding piles of laundry, and watching horror movies with a 10 and 12 year old. That's MY kind of party. Ok, so it's not, but I've never been one for huge events with people that I can't stand anyway.

Enter The Kid.

The Kid had a very entertaining day at work this afternoon. While spending most of his time on the cell phone, talking to his sister (after she spent about an hour at The Morgue and then left, that is). The Kid and sis were talking about their Halloween party they were having this evening. It seemed that all of six people were going.

The Kid asked Hubby and I if we wanted to go. I claimed, again, that I had other parties to attend this evening. You're reading the end of my party. LOL

Shortly after The Kid asked, his girlfriend showed up, also inviting us. Man... I am just invited-out today. The Kid tried to change the subject, seeing that I was getting a little perturbed with all of this party talk. Hell, I haven't even decided what I want to carve this year for our Jack-o-Lantern, that's just not like me.

The Kid started pressuring girlfriend to get a piercing (much like he did the last two weekends when she visited The Morgue). He is desperate for her to get a navel piercing. He also keeps attempting to pay me for one, but I won't take his money until she decides for herself that she wants a piercing. She did, however, change the subject, querying about piercings a little further South.

After much talk about how they hurt less than most other piercings because of the type of skin and thickness it would be going through, we got on the subject of lubricants. Not like that... YET.

Since I've been on blood pressure medication (a recent change in my life), the medication that I'm taking completely dries me out. My sinuses and eyes feel like I've just gone through a sandstorm, my throat sticks together when I try to swallow, and even my va-jay-jay is drier than a bone (pardon the pun). After speaking of soda and water and the like, THIS is where we turn to KY and other lubricants for the downstairs area.

All of the sudden, girlfriend pipes up and mentions this mint-flavored, tingly sex lube. We perk up our ears a little and cock our heads sideways, like confused puppies looking for a cookie and she says, "It's great, it's just like a coughdrop for your crotch!"

We ALL burst out in laughter... I beg for a pen and paper to write that shit down, knowing that I'll forget. Everyone looks at each other, somewhat uncomfortably, and quiets down. It hasn't been all that long since we've known The Kid and girlfriend. Looks like we'll get to know a LOT about them in a very little time.

When I Was Young...

When I was young, I never imagined in a million years that not only would I HAVE piercings, but that' I'd BECOME a body piercer.

Nearly 5 years out of my apprenticeship now (I have problems updating other sites and pages... some say 2 1/2, others say 3 1/2ish, but I looked today and realized that my first certificates read 2001), I'm amazed at how far the industry has come and how much I learn each year, too. It's an ongoing process and an ever-changing industry, so I'm always learning something new.

But what have I learned that's new this week?

People can be absolute morons.

Ok, I've ranted some about this in my other blog (the more public one on MySpace for my friends who know me personally), but there are people out there that specifically ask for advice, only to take advice from a 14 yr old that has no piercings or tattoos and knows nothing about medicine. As I said in the other blog, just because your friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend-who's-cousin's girlfriend's-best-friend happened to heal her piercing with a piece of dog shit, doesn't mean that it will work for everyone.

Onto other new things I've learned. Piercing is a complete popularity game. It doesn't matter one rat's ass how much you actually know, if you're popular and charge less (a result usually of inferior quality jewelry and piercer's that simply aren't knowlegeable), you'll get more customers. You'll have a lot of pissed off customers because of your jewelry and lack of knowledge, but you'll have more customers overall.

How did I learn this? The local shop that claims it's the "best in Northern California" while their piercings cost them a TOTAL of $ 0.19 each. Their piercings include:

• "SCOPE" as their mouthwash (you should actually be using an ANTISEPTIC and not just something to cover their bad breath).
• Cheap, Japanese needles that were actually meant for vet care (cheaply made, substandard, grey in color, and sometimes having burrs and barbs).
• Horrible "stainless" jewelry (that's NOT of medical grade, NOT vacuum molded, and not annealed. If it costs $ 0.13 or less, it should NOT be put in an initial piercing).
• ALCOHOL swabs for cleaning (holy crap, ever hear of Techni-care? It's cheap, goes a long way, and DOESN'T kill of healthy skin cells or burn!).
• Non-sterile piercing jewelry - QUOTE: "It's ok if it comes out of the case, it's all new and clean when it comes to us."
• Piercing with NOSE BONES. Just say NO. They're evil. Don't even use them if you've got a healed piercing... chances are, it won't be healed anymore after you attempt to take it out the first time.

I know there are TONS of other things I can complain about here. After I got back from the Midwest, I went to work for that motherfucker and ATTEMPTED to turn his business around. He refused to raise the quality, so I left. He STILL owes me a butt-load of money.

We then went into business for ourselves. It took a little over a year to get up to standards with internally threaded jewelry, but the ENTIRE time, we were using 316lvm jewelry (medical grade). Right after we got up to standards, we hit a small speedbump and decided to each go our separate ways to attempt to catch up with bills.

Those bills STILL aren't paid off (hell, this may be where I insert "BANKRUPTCY" here), and I'm back from my wonderful job (that I should have kept) in Hollywood only to be sitting on my ass day in and day out, twiddling my thumbs and playing solitaire on the shop computer at "The Morgue." Hell, if I had internet there, at least I could be making some money while I'm at work, instead, I'm spending to be there. I can HEAR MYSELF going broke.

Pathetic.

As each day passes, I think more and more about moving back to Hollywood, even despite the fact that my family would be up here instead of down there.

Why-oh-why did I move home before the bills were paid? And WHY won't Cryptkeeper get it through his skinny little skull that we're not going anywhere without advertising? Oh... and today, his radio bitch didn't even bother mentioning our shop in her dinky little radio show.

It's not like anyone's listening anyway.



Back to eBaying this evening... at least I'll make a buck or two on THAT.













Yeah, in my spare time.

All About "The Morgue"

OK, here's the deal, you've read my cast of characters, right? If not, go do so... you'll need it.

"The Morgue", so aptly named because the shop that recently opened that I now work for is deader than a doornail, is a tattooing and body piercing studio. Although most of us working there have been in the business for years, a former employee of ours from our last shop, is now (oddly) our boss.

Cryptkeeper (the boss) doesn't understand that you have to ADVERTISE to get a business off the ground. We've only been open a few weeks, and it's been SO dead, that Hubby and I actually took the day off today. I think we called in an hour or more after the start of the business day. What's the difference? I haven't seen a customer in a week.

I swear, I spend more on gas money in a week than I make in two. I'd be better off moving back to Hollywood. More on that later.

If Cryptkeeper would put a couple of bucks into a radio ad, we'd have more money than the ad costs coming in to make up for it, but apparently his friend "who has a radio show" that's on one time a week for one hour and at SOME point mentions us very briefly (so quick that we've never even caught it). Apparently, that's supposed to be our "advertising".

Funny thing, this "advertising" hasn't brought in one single customer. It probably has something to do with the fact that her show not only sucks donkey balls, but nobody ever listens to it. It's a show that showcases local talent, and although they usually play THREE of the local band's songs in the hour, it's mostly a fucking gab-fest with her talking to the band about ridiculous things like the color of their underwear. Do YOU want to fucking know about that or do you want to hear the music? Whatever. When the station realizes how low the ratings are, they'll cut her anyway, just like everyone else did when she was "promoting" local bands for venues.

Cryptkeeper and his wife, Ghosthunter, tend to gravitate towards listening to gothy and hard (wretched hard) punk and acid thrash-type metal music that you can't even make out ANY words for. Unfortunately, they also don't realize that this frightens customers. They are coming to us for a good tattooing and piercing experience, and as much as our soothing voices and loads of information put them at ease, they're still VERY tense when it comes time for the procedure because of this crashing, screaming, angry music. I just don't understand how they can equate "I eat your face as a sacrifice to the undead" as comforting. To each his own, I suppose.

The Morgue, as of now, is still VERY quiet (insert crickets chirping here), yet we're looking for other artists. We've picked up a stray who we'll call "The Kid". The Kid is a younger guy that was another artist's apprentice for a time. Sadly, for him, the other artist lost his tattooing job and the apprenticeship went out the window. Cryptkeeper is taking him on, despite the fact that he is still working his way out of his own apprenticeship. It's like the blind leading the blind here, with Hubby attempting to perform miracles and break The Kid of his bad habits and teach both of them the correct way to do things.

Cryptkeeper and Ghosthunter sort of let me have my run of the place (for now... or at least until they locate this blog. HA). They know that not only am I the most experienced piercer in the area, but also the fact that I actually ran several studios before kind of helps because I know my way around everything from paperwork to accounting. "I'm not just a piercer, I'm the freaking president". Ok, so that's fucked up. What I really mean is I've done so many professional jobs in the past that piercing sounds like it should only be a hobby for me. Instead of making a six-figure income, I've dropped well back into the low 5-figures just because I enjoy it.

Although I'd love to tell you all of the fucked up things going on at the shop, right now there's not a whole lot of "going on" going on... so I'll tell you about my own OCD. You may get a kick out of it, everyone else thinks I'm nuts and if we're ever robbed, they'll know where to find everything, but every last one of my cabinets and drawers in my piercing room are marked with what is in them. I went so far as to label outside of my room as well. Every dirty area is labeled. Incoming and Outgoing mail is marked. Every shelf in the storage room is marked. Even drawers that have copy paper, office supplies, clipboards, and business cards. Yep, they're ALL labeled. So I'm a bit nutty, at least everyone can find stuff without asking ME. Either way, all this labeling has been keeping me busy with our lack of business.

Hell, even if someone were to attempt to break in and rob us, MY stuff is so spread out that it will take them an hour to get everything. And I'm not even remotely kidding about that. Good luck getting past the break room, too. Yeah, I know you're gonna get snacky and eat my donettes and fat free tuna & crackers. You just watch.

Damn it, you steal my fat free tuna & crackers, I may have to get all twisted on your ass. I'll take that fake sword off the wall and slice you a new one with it. You'd LIKE that, wouldn't you.

Sick fuck.





Damn it. Ran off on a tangent. Fucking ADHD.

Cast of Characters

You may need to use this little bit of info from time to time... there's a lot of characters in my life. I'm sure there will be many more to come, so here's an index of who is currently roaming through my life. Both "home" and in my second home, Hollywood, CA.

Hollywood Cast:
Gunslinger: My friend from high school, who happens to be a weapons handler and armorer for the movie industry who tends to bring his work home with him daily.

CBL: "Crazy Boss Lady". This is my friend, who also happens to be my boss in Hollywood. She's a bit of a lush (by her own description) and one hell of a sarcastic bitch (again, by her own description). You think I'm sarcastic? I've got NOTHING on her.

Princess: The counter girl at the shop in Hollywood who fell in love and married the Jewish money-machine that's nearly twice her age.

Shyboy: The cute and sweet Hispanic counter boy who now co-manages the shop with Princess.

TFT: The "Touchy Feely Tattooist". Sorry, but this guy gives me the creeps in a strange, but good way. He's just a big, silly dork. Sweet guy, but damn, what the hell... I DON'T want a hug, and get that goofy grin off your face!!!

Dollface: The sweet apprentice tattooist that has a heart of gold (and somehow puts up with TFTs shit everyday).

Man of Steel: The former piercing apprentice who is now the head piercer since I left. Amazingly, he's the first apprentice that I have FULL trust in. Oh yeah, and the fact that he took SIX 8g rings in his scrotum just days before I left gives him some serious huevos en sus cajones!

SBM: The "Studly Boss Man". Although he rarely graced us with his presence at the shop (he was always in the warehouse office), he made it known that HE was the man of the house. Yes, he's got the power and money, but his taste in women? NIL. OK, so they had plastic tits and faces, and they could at LEAST count to 10, but can't they have brains AND beauty?

GodsGift: This is the pretentious, sexually frustrated asshole that also happens to be one of SBMs right-hand-men at the warehouse. He's still a jerk and it gets worse when he gets drunk, which I might add is not only weekly, but sometimes daily.

SM: The wonderfully humorous "Sarcastic Mexican". I'm sure that CBL would probably call him "Sarcastic Bean", and so would he, but I just can't bring myself to do it. He's the other right-hand-man to SBM. Although we didn't talk much (at least to one another), he's great at bashing GodsGift. High 5 for that!

Fancypants: This flamboyantly gay man sells the greatest women's clothing on Melrose Ave. Not only that, but he wears it, too... 'specially when strutting to Madonna blasting on his flashing boombox.

SBP: "Starbucks Psychobilly". This is the super hot guy that came into our shop repeatedly and flirted with me while we talked about psychobilly shows in the area. I nearly threw up when he brought in his cousin, who said "Yeah, I'm thinking about a tattoo, but he's gotta wait until he turns 18". Sheesh. At least I got free coffee.

Propmaster: This is the crazy dreadlocked white boy that wears 6" moonboots and a kilt while working on movie and television production as a propmaster. The man is insane, and an awesome guy, too.

UHTG: "Uber-Hot Tattooed Guy" is one of Propmaster's good friends. We've never met in person, nor spoken on the phone, but we've had some hysterical convo online. Awesome dude. Probably a good thing we never met in person!

FE: "Former Employee" of the shop that randomly contacted me via MySpace one day. It was a complete coincidence... I didn't know him, he didn't know me, and neither of us knew where the other worked/had worked. Who knows WHAT he was looking for, seeing his GF online, I'm sure it was NOT me.

WOWG: "World of Warcraft Girl". This was my female roommate in Hollywood. The reason I call her this? Although she offered to "use the computer anytime", I got home after she did each evening, and even when I'd stay up until 3am, she'd STILL be online from before I got home, playing that damned game.

WOWB: "World of Warcraft Boy". This was WOWGs live-in boyfriend. They had met online and decided to move to California from New York and Michigan? What were they thinking? I guess they complete one another, because when SHE isn't online playing that asinine game, he was.




"Home" Cast:
Hubby: The ever-loving husband that daily puts up with not only my shit, but the kids' and everyone else in the world. He has a bit of social anxiety, and an anger management problem, but in the end, it can be looked past because of all the good things he brings to the world. Hubby has also worked with me at many of the jobs that we've worked. He refused to go to Hollywood though, so I missed him greatly and is the reason I came home.

Cryptkeeper: This is my former employee now-turned boss. I left for three months, and he opened his own shop. Now I'm working for him. He has a fondness for dead things, cemetaries, and horror toys.

Ghosthunter: Cryptkeeper's new wife. They are VERY newly-wed, and she has a fondness for very similar things. She also enjoys hanging out in cemetaries and haunted places looking for ghostly spirits.

PPQ: "Pregnant Prom Queen". No, she's not pregnant now, nor is she in high school, but this is Cryptkeeper's Ex. She's not that prissy prom queen type, she's more of that stupid-cheerleader-who-faked-pregnancy-to-get-her-man type. She LATER got pregnant... then cheated on Cryptkeeper with SEVERAL different men. Including at least one of his friends.

TheKid: The shop's newest addition. He's "sort of" an apprentice, but he had an apprenticeship prior to his coming to us. We may have to break him of some bad habits. I wonder if rolled up newspaper works with him?

Chef: Our friend, the 5-star chef, who happens to LOVE making us dinner. Damn, I need to wash his dishes more often. He makes me want to make him our houseboy so he can make me sinfully delicious food everyday.

Hitler: Hitler would be our "pet name" for my "loving" mother. She strives to make everyone's life around her MISERABLE so that hers feels better. What more does she want? We pay all of her bills, moved in with her to take care of her sorry ass, and try to NEVER set foot in her path (for fear of being turned to stone or taken away on a train). What have we done to deserve this. I might add, thankfully, I'm adopted.

ICHU: Our eldest son. He's 14. The initials stand for "I Can't Hear You". He has VERY selective hearing and will NOT hear rules or instructions. His excuse for everything? Either "I didn't know" or "I couldn't hear you".

Filmstrip: Our middle son. He's 12. He's also one hell of a film buff. He knows everything about every movie. He holds conversations with Gunslinger that no one else can even comprehend. He knows producers, years of film releases and re-releases, names of remakes, movie stars, stand-ins, extras, special effects, and more. I don't know where he learned it all, but he's even got his own IMDB page with his friend. They even make mini horror movies that are online already. I guess if I had to punish him for something, I'd have to take away his video camera and DVD collection.

Whiny: Our youngest son. He's 10. EVERY request is rebutted with a whine. Even if you ask him where he wants to go for dinner, instead of his answer being his favorite restaurant, it's a whine about where he DOESN'T want to go. Want some cheese with that?

Look@Me!: This is CryptKeeper and PPQ's daughter. Technically, since PPQ has pretty much been out of the picture (such a slacker), she should be considered CryptKeeper and GhostHunter's kiddo. Her name (obviously) comes from the fact that with every little thing she does, comes the remark "LOOK AT ME!!!"

Silence: This little boy is cute and sweet, but eerie. Also CryptKeeper and PPQ's child, I've seen nothing but quiet charm from him, but from what I've overheard with former preschool calling nearly everyday, and CryptKeeper having to run and get him, he's apparently pretty destructive. He should become a pro wrestler.



So ends my cast of characters for the time being... I'm certain, as I stated above, that there will be many more to come... but these are the "few" that I deal with daily in my ridiculous world.

My First Meaningless Post

After much thought and a refreshed memory of blogs-gone-by, I was strangely attracted to rejoining the blogger community and giving my insights on my maniacal and sarcastic views of the world, my work, and my completely insane family to the world beyond my 30 mile radius I like to call home.

This home I speak of, in far Northern California, is the same place that 70% of California's parolees end up, the same place where 14 is the average female age of the loss of virginity, the same place that is on the list being the "meth capital of America", the place where the IQ drops by 20 from anywhere else in California, the place where the school grade point averages around a 2.0 (and parents are beaming and proud of this fact), and also, horridly, the place where most girls, aged 15-19 have had at LEAST one, if not more, children, now sadly being raised by their drunkard parents, who also should never have given birth to any offspring for fear of them being inbred hillbillys.

Once upon a time, I started the first blog of my own under the name of "Apparently Crazy"... as that was what I was so lovingly referred to by a female who stalked me, for whatever insane reason, and figured that she was "just so super" that my husband would leave me for her. Funny bitch, you'll notice in my writings that not only is she not around, and has long since been quite literally "run out of town", but also that my then-hubby is still here, putting up with my shit, and my apparent craziness.

Welcome... if I'm "Apparently Crazy", and you're still here, then you must be, too.