After just leaving the hospital about 30 min ago, driving my sobbing ass home, and smoking 9 million cigarettes, all I can think of is the irony.

Today in the mail, I received a special present from my aunt. It was a patron saint medal she had ordered for me off the internet. I’m catholic you see (though not the best one), and as Catholics when you are confirmed in the faith you pick a name to be blessed with, usually of the name of a saint, angel, holy place, or virtue. I have always felt a strong pull to the Blessed Virgin Mother Mary, and have often asked her for guidance and to pray for me, so I chose her sister (or cousin as some texts read) Elizabeth, mother of John the Baptist. She was known as Elizabeth of the Visitation, as she was the first to know of Mary’s pregnancy with the Son of God. Her own pregnancy was remarkable as well, as she was far too old to bare a son when she did to her husband Zachary.

What I could never really figure out was what she was the patron saint of, and it never really bothered me as that wasn’t the reason I picked her.

Catholic.org describes a patron saint as:

“…chosen as special protectors or guardians over areas of life. These areas can include occupations, illnesses, churches, countries, causes -- anything that is important to us.”

Archangel Michael is the patron saint of police officers, St. Lucy of the blind, and St. Genesius of actors. You can even find patron saints of bell makers, birds, bohemia, waitresses, weavers, and Wyoming.

But back to my surprise present. Well when I opened my package and excitedly clasped my new silver medal around my neck, I read the card that she was attached to:

“Elizabeth of the Visitation,” it read “Patron Saint of expectant mothers.”

In fact, it makes them want you less.

I don’t freakin get it. They try so hard, and when you finally give in, cause you know you want it too, their done with you! Eh, once they’ve seen your pussy, you’re yesterday’s news.

I hate men. I HATE men. I HATE MEN.

Think because they have dicks they can rule the world and swing ‘em around like the heavy end of a hammer. Well guess WHAT to all you testosterone toting, fore skin clipping, pussy eating, shriveling nut bags out there!

YOU SUCK.

On a lighter note, more drama at ‘fest. . . people getting stupid drunk, fired, sexually molested, breaking bones in car accidents, and chopping ears off. Just another season at the renaissance festival, and it’s not even third weekend yet. HA.

I rock hard, don’t I? I’m so fucking out of touch with my coding skills, it’s really sick to think I did this for a living. I’d have maybe vamped up the layout a little more if I could remember anything about style sheets; and if I had my old computer back from the ashes. I don’t have any of my imaging software so if you’re actually spending the time to read this, be warned you’re really looking at stock tile. I’m not going to lie, that would be pointless.

I made nice with one of the friends I had ostracized over the past month. I freaked out on her in Annapolis and took off in my Grand Marquee doing a buck ten down the highway. My ex would have called it a “double x chromosome moment” as I was overly heated and in a “hysterical state”. I think he just likes feeding on his male chauvinist side and emotional fear of estrogen. If any of you gals see him, give him a hug, he could use it.

Anyways, after I left her half crying in the parking lot and spending a week not talking to each other, we met at Renn Fest (see earlier post), and decided all was well, in a very non-eventful way. It was comforting really. She drew me that really cute picture of me. Sooooo fucking talented.

Anon fair readers, I’m off to na-na land. Perchance to dream.

My new goal at work is to make one of my managers cry. He’s a hippie vegan guy who listens to bad rap, and it’s fun to pick on him. However analyzing that fact later it just makes me wonder how much longer I’m going to have to spend in hell for my 15 minutes of fun.

My dog is shitting blood. He has something called Addison’s Disease. His glands are shutting down or something.

Renaissance Festival is here. Yes ladies and gents you’ve heard me right, another fall, another season. So far all I’ve managed to do is get rolling drunk while I’m there and spend plenty of cash on things I don’t need.

Yes, I’ll admit it. I’m a closet fairy. Come September I’ll be hanging out with the D&D crowd, dressed in a bodice, watching 14 year olds play magic on pick nick tables, while helping ex boyfriends duct tape their Darcon garb together. It’s an occupational hazard. Here’s me from last season, and no it’s not particularly pretty. An old friend took that for the multimedia class we were it together. He’s like 30 something with a really sweet wife, and we just happened to be in a random class together, as well as work renn fest. He sold knives or something.

Anyways if any of you haven’t made the trip to the fest yet I highly recommend going. Even if your not really lame like me and have spent more money on costuming then your rent, fest is fun and safe for the whole family! Shakespearian shows, jousting, the Royal Court, games, shops, jewelry, armory, elephant rides, horses, candy, fortune telling, rock climbing, wench drenching, singing, belly dancing, acrobats, turkey legs, steak on steaks, popsicle cheesecake, oysters, and most importantly BEER!

…okay so maybe I’m a tad enthusiastic. But it’s hard not to be. So now that I’m done with my little free advertising go check out the website if you havnt already. It’s www.rennfest.com and you can find directions to Crownsville, ticket info, and all that great shit there.

well not really silence...cause you're at Sonar...and you're pseudo dancing to bad techno at rediculously high decible levels.

Then the question..should I dance next to these people? Do they even want to dance by me? Should I make a b-line for the bathroom?

Well they made the decision for me as they slowley samba'd away from me and the friend I brought with me, closer to the stage. I just stomped out my Newport and soldired on.

I dont know why events like that grate on me, but they do. I dont think people who are like that are healthy for the soul.

From now on I'm only hanging out with people who are healthy for the soul.

Oh, and apparently I'm a slut. :(

Take a deep whiff ladies and gents, I’m about to take a massive shit.

So west is back, god knows if anyone I used to talk to is still out there, but I’ll make the appropriate rounds, donate my thoughts to the right people, and get out there again.

It was my birthday again a few hours ago. As a general rule, year 20 sucks. I’m only…*calculates*…18 hours into it and I could give it up already. Truly. Nothing really remarkable happened while I was 19, what could POSSIBLY happen in year 20? I changed jobs about twelve times, even had a stint as a cocktail waitress, finally stuck with a major (that has nothing to do with art or computers oddly enough), ruined a few friendships and romances, and am here, home, on my birthday staring at this screen at four in the morning. Christ knows what time I’m supposed to be at work.

I work at a record store now. It shall remain nameless but if you’ve lived in Baltimore for more than two days you could probably figure it out.

DAMN I’ve missed this. It’s a character really, so easily do I slip into the persona of west, like an old familiar sweater. Ok, so maybe that was a little too Jane Eyre of me but what ever.

NEWS:

So if anyone keeps up with Red Emma’s Café and Bookstore events you’d know Michael Muhammad Knight and a group of unforgiving Islamic punk rockers came to our great city, basically on a low key press tour to promote Knight’s book, The Blue Eyed Devil, and the Taqwacore Invasion. I went to both the book talk, and a show they did the following night at 2640. I highly recommend Knight’s books, TBED, The Five Percenters, and one I cant remember but am too tired to google right now.

Knight wasn’t what I expected in the least. He was neither a black convert, nor any type of Arab, rather a pseudo punked out white guy, who just happened to be Muslim, and know more about the Islamic history and laws then any religious professor I’ve ever met. The impression that I got off Knight was so easy going; he talked about his pilgrimages across the globe as if he just got up and decided to walk there one day. He makes everything look so blasted easy. As if nothing is impossible. In some ways he seemed touched by God. I wish my aunt could have met him. Maybe she’d think twice about condemning Muslims so quickly.

The kids in the punk bands were being followed around by producers and cameras everywhere. Apparently there’s a documentary being made. I met a few of the musicians first at the book signing, as I lent out about 12 cigarettes to the famished and haggard looking boys. Haphazardly I took names, nationalities, and instruments as they passed my lighter around. There were about 8 of them altogether, and they had piled on a green school bus and driven down from Boston for this tour. They invited me onto the bus and gave me some spray paint to tag the roof of it. They invited me to the show the following night, and joked about me singing Sublime in the intermission. I don’t know why. Knight got onto the tour bus, after I had him sign my book (where he just drew a robot instead of actually writing anything) and I took a few pictures for the documentary.

The show last night was sparsely populated, and more press showed up then anything else. I only hung out for an hour before I bolted after the onset of a head ache. However I did get to hear songs entitled W-AL-QUEDA-MART, Jesus Was Black, and It’s Only Fertilizer.

A pretty entertaining group, and if anyone wants some of the music, let me know.

You ever reevaluate choices so many times, and change your mind so many times, that you don’t remember the choices you made in the first place? That’s what I feel like every day now. Like I know I made the wrong decision but I don’t remember what that decision was…

You ever notice how hospital rooms have some form of décor that attempts to recreate a comfortable, domestic feel? Well the one I was in tonight, oh and that’s another story, but the one I was in tonight was sans all of that, except for the oddest light covering. All of the 8X10 florescent lights that unsurprisingly flickered in their respective places adjacent to the foam drop ceiling, were normal, except for the one in the corner. Some form of a blue plastic landscape photograph covered this one, and as I was waiting for the nurse to return and unstrap me from the stirrups, it unnerved me. I was ready to launch away from my IV cart and destroy the plastic.

Now I’m not a violent person in the least, but even past the needles and the pain, I was ready to destroy, crush, annihilate, and all around butcher the fucking blue plastic.

Anyways I didn’t, and I’m alright, and I’m home.

I’m in love by the way. I’m not sure if it’s appropriate to say “by the way” after a statement like that one. But it’s the truth none the less. I once read that “by the way” was a profanity, as the only way would be God’s way….

but back on topic:

I found myself a big teddy bear. He’s got his flaws as we all do, and I couldn’t tell you why, but I love him.

It’s an odd feeling, as I’ve never been in love with someone who loved me back. He doesn’t always show it the best, but on day like today, I know it. He shuffled me all over Maryland taking me from work to home to clinic to hospital to home again. He waited in the ER for 2 hours worrying about me, and didn’t complain once.

I never knew someone who would do that for me before. Literally no one.

But this is what my life is now.

Fired from my mediocre paying deign job, returning to my parents house without my dignity mind you, and clinging onto a “healthy” relationship full of many rather large words I have yet to look up in the dictionary (been meaning to do that by the way), I return to you, and perhaps to me.

This won’t make sense at 9 in the morning.

I don't think any of my readers still come here.

but i think I'm still alive.

I got fired from my graphics design gig, and I'm trying to find to a waitressing gig.

If anyone knows any good jobs around baltimore/ritchie highway PLEASE let me know.

I miss you guys, and I'll start updating again

I’m working my nuts off, which is extremely bad considering I don’t have any. I am financially fucked because of my car crash, and if you don’t know about that, don’t ask. I started classes, which were incredibly boring, I have NO real life friends, and I’m attempting to move out of my parents house on my meager wages. I’m ready to throw in the towel.

I’m also trying to get freelancing jobs because I’m broke. If any of you need or know someone that needs graphic design work done EMAIL ME BITCHES. CHECK OUT MY PORTFOLIO: B-43.COM because you fucking love me, right?

Oh and if you know anyone who has a room to rent out let me know too, somewhere near Baltimore perhaps, or south in Anne Arundel Co, would be best.

Love me.

From my parents I got a Star Wars birthday Card that sings the theme to me when I open it up. I proceeded to spill water all over it and now it only semi works.

I got a $350 gas tank for my car, because mine leaks all over the place. Woohoo.

I’m at work, staring at a screen, trying to figure out what I’m going to do with my life.

My best friend got in a 5 car pile up on 100 yesterday. So if you saw a mess of cars, that was her. No one was terribly hurt, just bruises, scrapes, and some bad whiplash, but the cars are FUBAR ‘D

My sister, the all empowering voice that she is, has suggested that I write all my goals down on a piece of paper. The only problem is I don’t have any goals. Really I don’t. I know I don’t want to be ‘here’, but I don’t know what else there is. I’ve been told countless times that my life seems eccentric and interesting, but I’m telling you know it isn’t. People are the same everywhere, so whether you’re recording at a studio, or waitressing at a Friendly’s, it’s all the same. Just a change of surroundings, not a change of the problem.

Basically we're keeping the fact that I'm doing some marketing on the down-low, cause the people we hired would get pissy. There's some kind of meeting today, and I keep getting this feeling that I should be more involved. But I am on the bottom of the totem pole and I can respect that....but only for so long.

I'm thinking about revamping this blog. It needs a little...end of summer pick me up. I mean I am an F'ing graphics designer for fucks sake, so this place should show it of!

What do you think? I need your guys opinion....

White and black, clean lines? Cool typography and short line hights?

Autumn pretty colors? Leaves and reds and shit?

90's grunge feeling? Paper and black drawn lines? Stains and rips?

Whaddya think?

God I hate playing little Ms. Secratary. I'm a BLODDY DESIGNER. Maybe I should go somewhere where my talents would be more appreciated.

Maybe I'm being egotistical, and should appriciate what I have.

Maybe I should go outside and smoke so many cigerettes I see the face of God.

They went on and on, and no one needs to be subjected to that load of bull. So, you move past it, and you get up and go to work, and everything’s right with the world again.

I’m a go have a cigarette now.