i would like to begin the first in a series of posts that i have entitled “A Few of My Favorite Things.” Now you may ask why would i devise such a bizarrely complex moniker for this strange and esoteric concept? why, its on par with “Snakes on a Plane” and that “Head on” headache cure they advertise on dr. Phil! (to take your mind off the fact that i just admitted that i watch Dr., Phil EVERY FREAKIN’ WAKING DAY OF MY EXISTENCE, i will now recite the “Head On’ commercial in its entirety: “Head On — apply directly to the forehead. Head On — apply directly to the forehead. Head On — apply directly to the forehead.” see how i did that? made you completely forget about….that…..thing i said.) Don’t worry: for those of you who never quite finished up on that quantum physics degree, i’ll give you the gist of the concept. so the idea is that i will post a picture of one of my favorite things and then i will tell you about it. yep.
so with out further ado…………

this is my bon jovi shirt. i got this shirt at the humane society thrift store in Pensacola, FL back in 199ironic-t-shirt. its has most defiantly seen better days, but what makes this shirt stand out in the ironic t-shirt world, amidst a sea of D.A.R.E. and “if mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy”, is the two inch high proclamation boasting in brilliant red and white — ladies and gentleman i shit you not —

“BON JOVI ROCKS YOUR ASS OFF”
indeed! the very idea! the very idea of bon jovi rocking ANYTHING off! i could set a glass made of cigarette ash on the edge of a coffee table — an ikea coffee table! — in a cabin composed of entirely popsicle sticks and held together by human spit, perched on top of an aluminum napkin dispenser and i could take the whole thing and set it on the very tip of a mountain and i defy bon jovi to rock that glass off, much less any securely attached (see above picture) section of my anatomy.
the only t-shirt that could possibly exist that could be any better than this one, would be the “bon jovi-couldn’t-rock-a-glass-made-of-cigarette-ash-on-the-edge-of-a-coffee-table-in-a-cabin-composed-of-entirely-popsicle-sticks-and-held-together-by-human-spit-perched-on-top-of-an-aluminum-napkin-dispenser-placed-on-the-very-tip-of-a-mountain” t-shirt. incidentally, if anyone is interested in printing those — which would, of course, involve printing on billboard-sized t-shirts — let me know.

from the sink to the sickbed

for quite some time now, i have been fantasizing about acquiring sort of illness or injury that would somehow prevent me from having to go to work. but its a tricky situation, finding the perfect affliction. one that would allow freedom of movement, absence of vomiting, and one would cause the bare minimum of “disfigurement for life.” (because i don’t think i’m really cut out for being maimed. don’t really have the disposition.) something that wouldn’t involve me ending up in some sort of “colony” or interfere too terribly with my stated lifetime goal of not being dead in any way
ladies and gentlemen: my day has come. 1 pinky finger vs. 2 exploding pint glasses + 4 ugly little stitches = 3 days off and 1 happy girl.

if you cant gross out the internet who can you gross out?


this was my emergency contact’s reaction. he spent the rest of the time making stupid faces into my camera phone and laughing hysterically to himself. all and all not the most supportive emergency contact apart from actually encouraging me to seek emergency treatment to begin with. “its really not that bad. i always though that my bones don’t get enough air anyway.” but he firmly insisted ventilation is an undesirable quality in SKIN. (i’m still not entirely convinced. i watch A LOT more ER than him, so i don’t know where he got his information.)

after several hours of waiting (and nobody telling ANYONE to do anything S.T.A.T. or any hot interns sleeping with other hot interns. man, television has really lied to me about what goes on in hospital wards.) my hand had actually had enough time to entirely heal itself, and so they had to surgically reopen the cut, just to they would have something to sew up. i mean, they already had out the suture kit and were all excited about it and everything. you should have seen those puppy dog eyes over those surgical masks. i didn’t have the heart to tell ‘em no.

anyway, talk about luck: i feel like hemmingway and his well placed little “war ouchie.”
so instead of being up to my knees in sweet and sour and Hennessy in back bar purgatory this weekend, i’ll be sitting on my couch eating tostitoes (with my good hand, of course) and watching the simpsons while doing shots of soy milk with my newly acquired souvenir wound irrigation gun. (not only did they NOT look at us funny for asking for it, but they even wrapped it in a sterile dressing for easy transport.) if i had a little more dedication to the joke, i would rig up a teeny tiny traction cast to rest my injured finger upon, but i’m lazy.
reason #38 why i’m the worst live journal friend in the world: after weeks of not updating: i offer you nothing but tasteless and gratuitous pinky-mutation shots.

i thought that maybe you guys would like to see the first three pages of pencils of Plagued, a comic collaboration between me,
and





i have three more pages that i’ll post as soon as i get them scanned.
you’ll love the comic; its got drugs, zombies, aliens, thugs, scientists, and junkies. everything a growing kid needs!

(p.s. — you’ll love the comic was really more of a command than a prediction.)