suffer beauty

I just chopped all of my hair off, a la' Winona Ryder in the 90s. Can't seem to stop cutting it, apparently.
Thank you, voters. I love waking up to great news.
It's easy to admit I am a bit of an intense girl. I like concentrated things -- guttural yellow leather, really pulp-y orange juice, bold words and too much eye contact -- and sometimes the things I want aren't the things I need. I think of what it would mean to get everything I want in life, and what more it would mean to change my ideas of what I want as each day passes and i grow older. Sounds are like textures for me. abrasive, lulling and soft, comforting and itchy. I can feel sound. I can feel color.
192 pages into my novel, as of 6:33 AM.

I'm getting a new tattoo, in seventeen days. It's pink and fabulous and Junko Mizuno-tastic.
Yay.

My tummy hates me. I've been vomiting on-and-off for the past 12 hours.
Plus side: I'm level 21 in FF12.
I got the most AMAZING, primitive Pinnochio marionette, and a scarf for my hair that's a full map of Italy.
Bub.

My name is not really Joni.
I work at a place I will never respect, but will tolerate because they pay me very well.
I own three pairs of vintage cowboy boots: black, silver and rust brown.
There is a painting in my living room that takes up most of one wall, which depicts jagged teeth or Gibsonesque cities rising from a lake of blood.
There are enough comic books in my house to fill two large bookshelves.
I live with a darling angel of a rabbit named Rupert Pennyworth.
I am completely obsessed with Gothic Lolita, EGL, and Sweet Lolita.
I could live on salad and pasta for the rest of my life.
I own a hat from the set of Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and a pair of Audrey Hepburn’s shoes.
I make the most amazing vegan chili.
My suitcase is made from crocodile skin.
I love chamomile tea, and fresh bread.
I have one vice: sparkling water.
I am marrying my soul mate… we smell just right to each other.
I am obsessed with sixties pop culture, and Edie Sedgwick.
I am writing a novel about anthropomorphized fairy tales living in modern society under the tyrannical rule of a God-thing named the Storyteller.
I love hot peppers as a snack.
I am terrified of gaining weight.
I made my own prom dress, complete with angel wings and computer chips, and dyed my hair neon red for the occasion. I was on the news for it.
I love animals more than I love people, but have inherited an alarming amount of vintage fur coats, wraps, and hats.
I am selfless to a fault, and have been sometimes referred to as the People’s Crusader.
I am mad for musicals.
I kick ass at video games, thankyouverymuch.
My Make-a-Wish Foundation wish would be to braid Willie Nelson’s hair.
I have never been on an airplane.
I predict trends.
I own three, space-age-atomic ash trays (all vintage), but do not smoke.
I own enough rare, unique clothing, vintage or otherwise, that if sold could buy me a very nice house.
I have a benign tumor on my left eyeball.
I go all gooey and girly for Hello Kitty.
I wear cologne or essential oil instead of perfume. My current scent is Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab’s Nanny Asteroth: amber, Middle Eastern flowers, honey, blood-red berries, leather and polished wood.
I have 5 tattoos, and have a new one in mind.
Elvis creeps me out.
I am sleepy.

I had my stomach pumped, today. I have an infection of my lower intestine/ulcer. It's fun.
I had to watch the most horrible, asinine comedy while the hospital as re-hydrating me. It was something about a canine cop, body-function-jokes galore. I feel dumber for watching it. Errrgh...
I'm going to go take a bath.

Niles found a new home, today. I'm pretty depressed about it.
Bright spot: my job offers 'incentive pay' in increments of $75, $150, and $250, depending on how your scores are on the floor-- I made the $250 mark, making my paycheck almost a grand. So... that's nice.
I bought vintage, rust-colored cowboy boots and a huge, delicious salad.
That is all.

We made vegan breakfast sandwiches, this morning. Now, I'm playing Devil Summoner and drinking Perrier.
I have two, large cuts on my palm from a rabbit kick, and they keep re-opening on my steering wheel. One of them could probably use a bandage, but there you are, then.
I have fourteen, soft cotton mini-dresses to wear with my black tights, and nineteen pairs of long earrings. Perfect.

I dyed my hair red, today.

Happy birthday, Edie Sedgwick.

BOOKWORM:

1. Grab the nearest book
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 3 sentences on your blog along with these instructions.
5. Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest.
6. Tag 5 people
----------------------------------------

1.  Well, I'm sitting here deciding if I actually want to eat, since I've had  a lot of coffee, today, but have received Jet's coupons in the mail... hmmm... 2. A random book off the shelf, : the Andy Warhol Diaries-- the show down town irritates me for no reason. 3. Anyway, the fifth sentence on page 123 is.... Mick wanted us to hear his new record, and we were going to bring it over to Studio 54 but it was at Earl McGrath's house, so we went over there (cab $4). Jann and Jane Wenner were there and Steve Graham who had something wrapped in foil in his pocket. It looked like drugs, but it turned out to be a Rice Crispies cookie." 4. David is watching Lars and the Real Doll. I don't feel like watching a movie. 5. Ask David-- it was the book I had in my lap when i found this. 6. David, Kristi, Rupert, Niles, and Michael Manning.

You know that kind of sick where you feel perpetually drunk(ish), and can't breathe well? Yeah... I'm that kind of sick. Luckily, David's not been affected by it, yet.
I've been listening to Xymox all day, and taking lots of naps and baths. 114 pages into my novel! Woo!
I want to get tattooed, soon. I just need that proper inspiration.

I am an official banker-lady. Speaking of ladies, Lil' Betty is in my lap, in full-out floprington position. Awww...
I had my "exit interview" this morning, and I made an official complaint about both of my managers. One (Matt) is a misogynist, the other, (Penny) is just full-out INSANE.
I do not give a #$%@. Honestly-- what can they do? I could care less.
I keep getting birthday goodies in the mail. Life is good.

I got the job!
I've been stressing over this for two weeks.... finally, I feel like I can breathe!
It's at a bank, with full benefits, and MUCH more money. Huzzah! I get the "formal' offer tomorrow. I can't WAIT to quit my current job.

So, I have an utter aversion to all things brand-name... I mean, sure I like certain designers, but the thought of wearing someone else's logo makes me literally sick to my stomach. I loathe mascots and "hey, buddy" advertising to the degree of myself going out of my way to avoid it-- I don't even like touching, let alone looking at, logos. Frisson-city.
And then I read Pattern Recognition, which illuminated me to the fact that I am not alone. Thank you, William Gibson. I would marry your brain, if I could.

Some bitch stole my tattoo.
Seriously-- this tattoo-- my chest piece, is SO personal to me-- I went through 11 hours of pain and blood for this thing, researched fairy tales and Japanese prints and even went to my mother's house to get the crucifix I used as the 'ends' of the snowflakes, and this bitch just blatantly RIPS ME OFF, and replies to my angry email with "I guess I'm just not creative! LOL" as though this admission is supposed to make me feel better about the fact that she STOLE my tattoo?
Heath, at work, had the most violent solution: (and I quote) Find the bitch, cut her up, and pour lime on her chest.
Wow.

I hate you, stomach-- I hate you. You're so iffy-- I just want to be over 111 lbs, but you're all "no-- every damn thing you eat is going to make you throw up, ha-ha! For 2 months! Ha-ha! Your doctor can't figure it out-- he just assumes you're pregnant, even though that's impossible! Ha-ha, bitch!"
You're so Bateman, stomach. Jerk.

Dear Suicidegirls.com... you're sad. You're pathetic. Back in about 2001-2003, when Katie and the others were on the site, I loved you! I supported you. But, now? Darlings, you're sad. You're sad, little smut peddlers who thought that an apology email for that Nana set traumatizing rape survivors, such as myself, would suffice. Before that, you sold your supposedly private, "empowering" content to hardcore porn sites, and lost one of your top 3 photographers to petty jealousy and revenge. Great work! By the way-- you may want to note to your largely female fan-base that the site was never actually owned by your figurehead, Missy-- Sean Suhl, if I were some kind of supernatural creature with horribly castrating powers, YOU, dear, would be one of the first to go.
Sleep tight, kids.

The Three Bears or Goldilocks and the Three Bears is a notable children's bedtime story. Often considered an anonymous folk story, even one of the stories collected by the Brothers Grimm, it actually first saw print in 1837 as a prose story composed by the poet Robert Southey, and collected in his book The Doctor. Possibly based on an even older story, though this is by no means certain, the story became widely known after being published by Southey, and was so often retold, that it has lost connection to its author.
Goldielocks.

Once Upon a Time... there were just the words:

Then, the outline:




And finally, color:




Ta-da!!!

Color in 4 days. I'm so excited-- I feel like a coloring book, right now.
Moving, soon... but, where to?