Friday, December 29, 2006

The most amazing thing I've seen all year.

This man, Noah, took a photo of himself everyday for 6 years. I don't care what your orientation is, I cant conceive of anyone not falling in love with this man.



it gets better . . .

Thankyou Fecal Face!


http://www.everyday.noahkalina.com/

See you all next week.

James gets home today.

To all of my proverbial sorority sisters, the proverbial tube-sock is on the proverbial doorknob, if you catch my drift.

Wednesday, December 27, 2006

The Shriners have a history, related to the Masons, a secret society that tames the lion.

I couldn't be positive, but I'm nearly certain that trapeze artist are also excellent swimmers. Or at least I would like them to be. I have this thing that I sometimes think about when I gather up my 100 mile stare and pour it out which is, I guess, a childhood fantasy. It may have even been a dream at one point in my life. I don't remember its origins anymore, just that it comforts me and keeps my mind occupied a bit longer than I should be admitting publicly. It slows my heart rate, makes me want to give up on worldly things like nice clothes, boys, smoking, etc. Its one of the few things I would be happy to only observe and not partake.

I like to think about the Shrine Circus Underwater, in a very very very large swimming pool with, monkeys, girls, glitter, and fezes, polyester clown wigs, tightropes and drums, an audience gasp, and one or two incessantly crying children who are weeping for the clown who gets kicked out of the clown car because there wasn't enough room (I was actually that child, I have always struggled with empathy). All of it, just underwater with me.


Monday, December 25, 2006

Everlasting love makes me one scary motherfucker.

When it comes to friends, especially girlfriends, I get very attached. Even when they grow sick of you, or something makes you fall away from each-other I still feel protective. Basically what I'm saying is, I don't care how big of a bitch she can be, she is still my friend and if you fuck with her I will fucking kill you.

Imaginary trips to Kowalski's because for the first time in years I am actually lonely.

50 hundred million times a day, I get bored and think to myself, I'll just go to Kowalski's and get something. I absolutely don't know how to get there anymore. Get up Kendra, go do something. I get in my car, still littered with empty packs of Camel Lights adorned with the ghosts of the redbeards and the seeing eye of the Masons. I sit in the passenger seat, keys in my lap, able to go, but far, far, far too stubborn to adopt a new role. I just sit there for a few minuets, staring through my breath, thinking about what song might be playing if the car was on, and if there was any joke or funny anecdote I could relate to the song, that would make me seem interesting and witty. Eventually I get too cold, and start to concern myself with what the neighbors might be thinking about my behavior and go inside.

Delores is very special and I love her.



This is her new game. She lures you to the stairs, looks coy, and when you lean in to investigate the situation, WHAM! you're fucked.

Sunday, December 24, 2006

January 31st, 1948 left a sizable hole in geographical logic.

This is a quote pulled from the closing paragraph of the report about the Star Tiger, a small plane with 29 passengers operated by the British South American Airways Corporation, which disappeared over the Bermuda Triangle on January 31st, 1948.

"In closing this report it may truly be said that no more baffling problem has ever been presented for investigation. In the complete absence of any reliable evidence as to either the nature or the cause of the accident of Star Tiger the Court has not been able to do more than suggest possibilities, none of which reaches the level even of probability. Into all activities which involve the co-operation of man and machine two elements enter of a very diverse character. There is an incalculable element of the human equation dependent upon imperfectly known factors; and there is the mechanical element subject to quite different laws. A breakdown may occur in either separately or in both in conjunction. Or some external cause may overwhelm both man and machine. What happened in this case will never be known and the fate of Star Tiger must remain an unsolved mystery."

Friday, December 22, 2006

This is what my mornings look like 5 days of the week.



This is my favorite time of day.

It's not you, it's me.

This is the time of year my inner hermit takes over. Everyone will be seeing less of me. I can't honestly apologize, its been this way as long as I can remember. I have too much to do (grant writing, family supporting, creative endeavors, movie preproduction etc) and too much motivation to be drinking with anyone all night every-night.

I just need to do my thing, which I haven't been doing enough of, which is driving me insane, which is altering my mood. So for the sake of sweet young Mr. Fowler, let me alleviate my mood free of guilt.

On a side note, I was spacing out while getting primped this morning, and accidentally put my mascara on twice. Now I look like Raggedy Ann, but I kinda like it and I'm ten minutes late for work, so I'm going to go with it.

Thursday, December 21, 2006

I am such a goon for this stuff.

I've been teased but there is a horoscope that I religiously (hah funny word) read. For the most part it is benign but every so often it is spooky (see previous post).

Today
-------

GEMINI (May 21-June 21): There's something you just can't get off your mind. Take a break from worry, even if it means you have to distract yourself. Socializing out on the town might be just what you need.

-------

http://featurepage.creators.com/startribune.html?name=jjd

It's strange, holidays don't usually make me so gloomy.

When you break it down, dissect my life, absolutely everything evolves around my brother, Juan Pedro. Every single motivation has a basis of him. And now he's coming home.

It drives me insane to think about. Lots of people in the world have a drink when they are pregnant and nothing happens. An occasional wine is recommended even. Which drink was the drink that pushed baby Juan into his own magic logic? I hope hope hope at least it was champagne or wine or please god I hope it was something sweet.

Maybe a port. For some reason it matters greatly to me. The only thing I think about as much as this is what that man was wearing when he got in that garbage truck in 1982, and made his merry way into the suburbs. Well, that and sometimes I wonder if I have ever crossed paths with this man and didn't know it.

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Sonic Youth?

This is a senior citizens choir, singing a rendition of sonic youth's Schizophrenia. Holy beautiful, I feel like a teenager again.



Thankyou eyeteeth!

"I like him, he's scary"

oh oh oh she is such a freak. wound a little too tight from time to time . . .

thankyou. you know who you are. you are one of the best friends in my life, my big little shooting star.

Monday, December 18, 2006

basically . . .

I'm a little drunk. I've quit smoking but picked up a foul habit of painkillers. And drink far too much coffee.

Instead of putting on weight since I've been feeling better, I just keep loosing it. I'm down nine pounds now.

Sometimes I just want to be alone and will do anything it takes to get that way.

Extra Stellar vagabonds live forever without the trampoline to calm their proverbial profession.

There are a few light and empty places you can be. Inside your mother is the first. After that there is the water; the bath, the lake, the river, the sea, the ocean, etc (even running your hands under the faucet while doing dishes does the trick). An airplane is an option, but not a very good one. You can also go into space, but that is not for many. You can jump off of things but that I would not recommend as it can become dangerous. You can hold your breath when you run, which will most likely result in some bruises and confusion, but I would definitely say its well worth it.

Personally for me, the closest I will ever come to hollow bones is a trampoline. Jumping is something you can do to float for just a split second, and live with the rush of falling with the wind forced up your nose, expanding your lungs to full capacity, then again floating upwards so very slowly . . .

Julia floats. She floats because that is what she knows to do. Jim floats because that is what he studied, this is his profession. They float together in a metal tube in the sky, over the planet, because of compulsion and unrest. Julia has long hair, which she has kept as such since she was a child, which spirals out of control around her head in whirls and fancies for months while Jim breaths ever so slowly to conserve his energy.

Saturday, December 16, 2006

Thursday, December 14, 2006

Sour smells, stale air, the burden of being home.

God fucking dammit. I am really fucking angry about something right at this very moment. I cannot stop grinding my teeth.

F U C K.

and also . . .

I hate coming home when there is just this very generalized shitty disposition sitting in the room. Something kind of sour-like, that absolutely permeates everyone in the room. This may or may not be an uncommon experience at my house.

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

Princess Grace

For those of you who don't know me well, the basis of this story is that I have a pretty extreme reaction to sugar. I am also an extreme klutz. These two things in tandem lead to many accidents. Add to that I work a pretty blue collar job in a warehouse, working on grip trucks made for film equipment. Now you see where this is going. Basically, I am a huge source of worry to my bosses, being that I pretty regularly get injured on the job. For example, just yesterday, a coworker of mine was throwing a set of truck keys at me, expecting me to catch them. Instead of even thinking about possibly trying to catch them, I backed up much farther than I needed to, to avoid their path, and ended up tripping on some boxes stacked behind me, throwing my arms and legs in the air and landing on my back. This is pretty typical for me.

Also my bedroom has low ceilings. Just imagine the possibilities for a girl like me.

Here are some pictures I took the night after a fairly sizable fall. I was furiously skipping down a concrete hill, in total ecstasy, unaware of the crack in the pavement ahead. My friend Kristina watched it happen as she was walking behind me. The way she explains it was it looked like I was randomly shot in the back and somehow then magically catapulted forward while my entire body floated off the ground. I landed on my face and continued to skid on the pavement on my hip. I was really bewildered for an entire day after that. A possible concussion. All I know is that when my head hit, for a second I thought that this might be my very last thought, and all I can think about is if anybody saw me do that. Needless to say, this is not the first time I have thought that, nor is it the first concussion I have endured.





This eventually turned into a little tiny shiner the next day.



This part hurt really fuckin' bad. Three weeks later and I still have a bruise. Also, on a side note, this picture was obviously supposed to illustrate my wound, but I think it does a better job of illustrating how tight my pants were that day.

Oh yes, I must mention, it is true, my parents nearly named me Grace. Which is funny, but even funnier is this: instead they thought they would invent a name. They mixed their middle names, Kenneth and Diane, but then thought Kendia was weird sounding, thusly they augmented it to Kendra, which does have a nice ring if I do say so myself. They only found that they were not the inventors of Kendra when I turned five and we discovered through an incident at Chucky Cheese that Kendra has been a name for centuries.

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Holy cannoli the title of my seduction style is knarly!







Yes, I know this is cheesy. But I have a habit of doing silly quizzes online and being disappointed in their wisdom. Failed fortune tellers. As gross as the title is, the second paragraph of this gave me the willies. A little too close for comfort. But I guess if you do as many internet quizzes as I do your are bound for coincidence. Still . . .

Sunday, December 10, 2006

an observation (part cinq)

When cats lick their own assholes, they look like cellos.

This is a ridiculous soapbox, but I won't hide it any longer.

My room is messy, and not very aesthetically pleasing. This is the way I like it. I secretly resent when people come into it (I don't like people being in my room generally, unless it is for some reason or another completely necessary) and offer me their ideas on how to make it less gross and ugly. It may seem ass-backwards, especially for a girl (which is an offensive double standard, if I do say so myself), but I actually revel in the mess. I love an unkempt bedroom. I am a cleanly person. I rarely am responsible for messes in the rest of the house, with the one exception of in the kitchen when I am baking but even then I like to clean as I go. To me a dirty room makes sense, it keeps me from being distracted and some how keeps me humble, which helps me write.

Let me step up on my fucking soapbox and shout it. I am proud of my mess.

Monday, December 04, 2006

Too much time, glossy-eyed digital rummaging.

I've been hibernating in bed at my father's house for the past five days or so. Last Wednesday I had my tonsils removed and have been just waiting it out out here in the burbs, hoping that this unbearable discomfort will end soon. Thats kinda funny "unbearable discomfort" doesn't really add up does it? I guess the cocktail of drugs I've been on has made me a little prone to being dramatic.

Here is a lovely little glimpse of what my days have consisted of lately.

Wake up late, around 9:30. Not that I have any reason to get up, just my daily migraines force me out of bed so I don't barf. I go strait up stairs, crack open my precious little orange bottle of non-narcotic meds, open and apple sauce, eat it along with my little pink pill as fast as possible. I go down stairs and go back to sleep for about an hour. After a nap, I wake up and turn on the food network, turn on the lights, and dim them. Then I take this little pill called Zofran which is an anti-nasueaum. I wait about fifteen minuets before I take exactly one teaspoon of liquid hydrocodone (vicoden) which promptly shuts down the activity of the pain receptors in my brain and more importantly in my spinal column. YES! Then basically I sit in bed and watch the food network and surf the web all fucking day. Then in the evening dad comes home and feeds me something mushy while he prepares some amazing gourmet whatever for he and his girlfriend which they proceed to eat in front of me, heartless bastards. Some nights James comes over to keep me company while my eyes glaze over and I am all in all just way too happy. Oh yeah, there is another dose of narcotics somewhere in there. Then I get worn out and go to sleep.

I have lost a total of 8 pounds in 6 days and I am so fucking hungry I am loosing my mind. All I can think about is food. On a side note, while piddling away on my computer, I found some photos from thanksgiving 2005 that are pretty amazing.

ta da.



This is the most glorious mashed potato sculpture I have ever made. His name is Norman.



A close-up of Norman.



Sometimes me and my beautiful siblings drink too much when we party.



My mom gets really distraught with our behavior sometimes. Poor mama. My dad, however, gets very smug when he drinks. Fuck yeah my mom digs tie-dye. She is super rad.