Crushing dissapointments about Adulthood

so the whole blogging classy thing? i dont know if it turned out the way it would in my head... so i decided to try funky blogging. im writing today while drinking a glass of orange juice and listening to discos greatest hits.

now, due to a conversation i had last night, i feel i must share. either i was the only kid who had awesome dreams of what adulthood would be like, or everyone else just had more realistic expectations than me.

see, when i was a young one (under ten) i was asked what i wanted to be when i grew up. well... i was quickly told i could not grow up to be a velocirapter. and that sucks. because if Jurassic Park taught me anything its that a velocirapter and me, were on the same page.

now, since i was being told i had to pick right then and there what i wanted to grow up to be and i was under the impression i wouldnt get a second chance i told them. i wanted to grow up to be Mad Max.

this answer was met with blank stares and the scent of my fathers shame at having allowed me to watch that movie as many times as my younger sisters watched disney. i was told that being Mad Max wasnt a job, nor could i grow up to be an australian man. so thinking quite hard i gave them my next answer.

well, at least this time i picked something that was a job. though i was quickly informed that x-wing pilots dont exist. i was congratulated for picking a job, but that i still wasnt grasping the concept. (i think this may have also been the leading reason i joined the military- ie air force- in a misguided belief that x-wings did exist and that i would probably be able to be there when they were revealed to the public)

now, i spouted off a few more things and finally my family gave up. this question would haunt me for years though. then, finally in the end of middle school i was asked again by a professional career councilor. when i told him i wanted to grow up to be Pam Grier i was told to leave his office. im sure he had thought i was trying to be a smart ass or waste his time but i was dead serious.

listen, i dont care what you say, Pam is BEAUTIFUL and talented and super awesome. i still want to be her or Mad Max when i grow up.

well, as you can probably guess i was never exactly counseled as to what career i should go into. people promptly gave up. but this leads to other things that started to blow me away with disbelief as i got older.

taxes- really? i barely make shit! and now im disabled, what else are you going to take? my pride? (on a side note, yes they would)
naps- what do you mean i dont get nap time at work?
my car- i need to register it, insure it, pass emissions, get a license, keep all the lights on and not drive fast anywhere? oh, and i almost forgot excise tax
bills- when did they start charging people for electricity or water?
rent- im pretty sure you dont really need to make me pay more than a dollar a square foot, so lets work this out.
dental- my face hurts and my horribly delayed onset of puberty struck again by only just now allowing my wisdom teeth to come in and you want to charge me how much PER TOOTH to remove them?
voting- i totally support this one, i just wish we could do it more often
travel- i really want to go on magical adventures and i need a visa, another visa, maybe a couple extra visas and entry taxes and fees just to see your country?
i didnt get tall- enough said.
looks- i know, i dont look like an adult, or even as old as i am. i get it. but stop carding me already and just get my drink
responsibility- great, now i have to remember to do my laundry, pay excruciating amounts of money to everyone but myself and be held accountable for everything- like sneezing in public. you would think people wouldnt overreact on that one (i curse you H1N1, you ruined having a cold!)
food- im pretty sure this stuff grows on trees and in the ground so why do i have to be charged the equivalent of you giving birth to it?
a house..... oh, im illustrating this one.

see, when i was young i though i would grow up to live in a hobbit hole in New Zealand, or maybe an undiscovered castle, or a space ship or something. now i completely scored apartment wise. but this place is no bat cave, no fortress of solitude. but it does have indoor plumbing.

now when i imagined this.... tree house castle? it was the dream home of fantasies! but alas. i am not rich, nor am i shallow and willing to hunt down people with money to marry and then force into buying my love and attention.

instead i have a 508 sqft apartment. which rocks, dont get me wrong, but its no castle/tree house/space ship.

so instead to work out these feeling of frustration i play Fallout (3 is my favorite but New Vegas is awesome), go to Burning Man, and read voraciously.

this is also why i think my whole wardrobe make me look homeless, or if you squint your eyes a little, like an extra from Mad Max or the Postman.

now, when asked what i want to be when i grow up i tell people i want to be happy. they ask if i want to be famous. i would say not really. fame costs privacy and i treasure mine. they ask if i want to be super sexy. im ok with my body, were working out the rough patches in our relationship and frankly bigger tits would scare me if they were on me. talk about overdoing a good thing. do i want to be successful? of course, but i think our definitions are different.

i want to be happy. and if that means i cut my hair short, watch silly movies, paint, draw, sculpt and cook... so be it. mr beast, madame foo foos and i are one big happy family that i have to vacuum up after at least once a week and thats ok.

so far being an adult hasnt been terrible. plus, i can still dream and play make-believe.

so if adulthood is getting you down, hit me up. ill take you hiking in the deserts of arizonaland and pack a picnic so we can dine in style in the beautiful wastes.

Miss Lys

who is this awesome, funny, super intelligent genius of questionable ethical standings with a taste for design as well as running around half naked in a desert covered in body paint?

that would be me, Miss Lys.

what is all that shit behind me you ask? well that would be my poor Yaris, positively pregnant with everything i went to Burning Man* with.
now, i found a funny bumper sticker once and feel it probably does the best to sum me up. are you ready for this? its down right modern Shakespearean here.

"I don't have 'hobbies' I'm developing a robust Post-Apocalyptic skill set"

so how do i go about introducing myself? im not sure. i am not fond of labeling people, but most often thats how we identify people. so i guess in no particular order....

-i am an accomplished welder.
-i am ex-military and proud of it (lets not get politicy**)
-i love to draw and am entirely self taught and desperately want to go to school for art
-i am a motorcycle mechanic, i can work on anything but im certified for Harley Davidson and Suzuki
-i love to sew. my grandmum taught me how to use a machine... i was even stopped one on the streets of St. Pete beach by a woman who wanted to know what designer i was wearing (something I MADE!!! YAY!)
-i graduated high school with honors, got a very impressive score on my ASVAB and always score in the top 5-10%
-i am disabled. true story. ill go into it sometime maybe.
-i am a super nerd and think quantum physics is neato... Popular Mechanics and Architectural Digest are my super naughty guilty pleasure reads- they give me goosebumps.
-i am the oldest of three girls and all my cousins and i am frighteningly protective of all of them to include but not limit assaulting someone with a 2x4.... sorry Mr. Bean.
-i love to cook, especially for people because i really enjoy an excuse to eat fabulous food in large amounts

i have been called many things over the years. some of them good, some of them bad. like my favorite. i dont mind being called a cunt. i think it has something to do with the fact that in my head that word conjures images of a flaky french pastry with a raspberry or peach filling and a lightly whipped cream dollop with a light coating of jimmies (which apparently are sprinkles...i guess we new englanders are weird). so every time i hear cunt i just get hungry for dessert.

ive been called a dyke. also funny to me. i am not called one because i enjoy the company of fabulous women, which i do, and i absolutely love them- but because i have short hair. so just in case you havent heard, the length or lack there of determines your sexuality.

which is also something i feel i may have to clarify. i am not a lesbian. i am not straight. i am not bisexual. bisexual just conjures images of college aged women making out with each other drunkenly for attention in my mind. i love personality. i dont give a flying fuck what you look like, what sex you are or what race you are. let me repeat that. I DONT FUCKING CARE WHAT SEX YOU ARE, WHAT RACE YOU ARE, OR WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE. i think you are beautiful. you are you. and nothing and no one should change that.

i love personality, and that is what gets me all hot an bothered. so if you can make me laugh or smile- you just got an admit one ticket. but that being said. yes i do have preferences. if you have short, kind of spiky blond hair and a dirty mouth and you are a mechanic. hot damn, dont mind if i threaten to rape you.... or at least let me bite your butt cheek. do you have smouldering eyes and reek of bad decisions? count me in.

some things i really like?

earth tones, music, art, cats, listening to moving water, burning man, freedom of expression, freedom of speech, tattoos, piercings, body modification, gaming, dungeons and dragons, writing, painting, sculpting, learning, motorcycles, metal, building stuff, walking, sunsets, sun rises, stars, lions, leo stuff, bonfires, being a designated driver, road trips, sewing, curling up in my bed under all my super high thread count sheets, shooting the shit for hours with my best friend, watching movies, traveling, making people laugh, hanging out with old people, mentoring young people, dreaming, being politically active, cooking, eating, giving people things, comic books and graphic novels, monkeys with wings

what dont i like?
ass hats, badly behaved pets, children under the age of 23, rude people, road rage, distracted drivers, fascists, people who insult the uniform they wear, most political leaders, our current government system, monkeys, popular fashion that makes no sense like ugg boots and mini skirts paired together, cookie cutter people, ignorance, harmful drugs be they legal or otherwise, pork products (sorry), teen moms (children shouldnt raise children), celebrities that are famous for absolutely nothing worthwhile (yah, im looking at you tila, jersey shore, paris), judgemental pricks, really drunk guys, cinnamon

bored? these are my babies. i love them more that anything in the world and if someone hurts them i will seriously shove my fist down their throat and watch them die from a lack of oxygen- or that i would be crushing their heart in my hand with a smile on my face.

the first one is mr beast. dont worry, he isnt dead. he sleeps like that. i think its because someone tried to drown him when he was a very young kitten. he also makes fatty grunt noises and drools.

the second cat is mrs. foo foos. she is my big, beautiful girl. also another cat i rescued. her previous owners decided to abort the littler she was carrying by stomping on her. so when i found her all stuck in a cast and terrified of anything that moved, i spent seven months nursing her back to health. she is now a princess and demands you acknowledge her as such.

i am currently in my mid twenties. i guess i am a student, or disabled, or retired. it depends how you want to look at it.

im something of a philosopher. i like to help people and talk about all sorts of stuff. ive been told i am a spirit animal to people. and that just makes me think of this

...'nuff said.

want to more? ask. i would love to talk.

*Burning Man is fucking amazing. do it. go. buy a ticket and bring gifts and enjoy every eye opening moment. be good to one another.

**i love a good political debate, so be careful if you get me going.

***i got really hurt in a magical place referred to as 'the sandbox', or 'the desert' and should not be confused with any location in America, and that led to some pretty shitty brain trauma.

 i leave you with this.

glass in a desert

today i was looking through some pictures i took almost two years ago when i first visited the city known to me as phoenixopolis. i was originally out here to explore the city and what would eventually become the school i am currently attending. while i was out here i wandered my delightfully pale ass over to the Desert Botanical Garden and had my mind completely blown out of my ear hole.

in case you have never heard of him, Dale Chihuly is an incredibly talented glass artist. his work goes for a crazy amount of money and is displayed all over the world.

well, i was at the garden when his exhibit was being displayed there. and i totally got pictures. so enjoy.

now, i apologize for my camera. it sucks. it is also KIA now. and that means i need a new one. but did you feast your eyes on the glass work? the colors? the shapes? i wish my photos could do his work justice, but it simply couldnt. the pieces were amazing and left me breathless. i ended up walking around the garden for close to five hours just staring.

now i would highly suggest looking up more of his work and also supporting the botanical garden. not just of phoenixopolis but also wherever you live. because its good karma. and i think we all need a little help when it comes to karma. plus its super easy. jut go out and do something nice.

dont do it for the thank you or attention, but because you should. people should be good to one another. being a fuck wit is a shitty existence. you get what you give, so if all you do is spout negativity and anger that is simply going to be your constant state of existence.

sucks, right?

so be good to one another people. im not saying go out and hug people or forgive some ass hat for punching you in the face (unless you deserve it) but say thank you, open doors for people, help old people with their groceries or garbage, be polite, use your  fucking turn signal- they exist for a reason and try to help a charity or establishment once in a while. they can use that money you were going to spend on dumb shit for something like helping to find a cure for cancer or aids. both of which suck and kill or hurt really fucking cool people. (like a certain Barreness who is super funny and very much an idol of mine and living the life. you go girl!)

like my aunt and grandmother. one is a breast cancer survivor and the other had intestinal cancer. both women are amazing, inspirational, strong and awesome. and apparently to fucking difficult to kill. which feeds into my theory of genetic mutation in my family leading to the birth of me- the most awesome lady ever.

so anyways, here is a gorgeous bike with a chick on it to end the post. try and figure which one i drooled over more.

if only they gave it away, right?

so here we are again. alas, the fight between great taste in design and the ever present lack of income wreak havoc on my life. a good example is my living room.

now currently i have two couches. both smell like wet dog (i dont even own a dog), both are on the verge of falling to pieces and while one has the approximate weight of a dying star the other has a hand written message in black sharpie scrawled across it by a friend of mine. i have nothing else. no coffee table, no lamp- wait, correction. i have a fabulous curtain to cover the sliding glass doors that lead to my porch as i live on the second story.

yup, thats exactly what my curtains look like- well, except the rod. dont have one of those yet.

now, i would like to get a new couch. one that doesnt smell like dog. one that doesnt weight 8,738,788 pounds. one that doesnt cost me a months income. tough right? i know. now to add to this i want it to be comfy and neat looking. kind of like this.

at least, well, all mismatched but common feeling fabric patterns. and i want pillows! tons and tons of pillows! i love pillows. you can do tons of stuff with them, like sleep on them, lounge on them, build forts with them, assault people with them and prop stuff up with them.

and to top it off, i need tables. of the coffee and end type. most likely an entertainment center device will be needed as well. and these are the ones i would like.

crap. do you know how much this stuff costs? being an adult is expensive. i tried to go shopping for furniture, but i had a disagreement with store security and was asked to leave.

oh, you want me to elaborate? i shall indulge you just this once (always. i love story time)

(flash back to circa this christmas)
so i totally looked homeless. i will give them that. i had on old shitty combat boots, paint stained desert camo pants, mismatched socks with holes in them, a disgusting old long sleeved (now) grey thermal shirt with a bleach stained black casualties shirt covered in holes and a Dickie's thermal hoody. my hair hadnt been washed in two days and im pretty sure i may have smelled like motor oil.

so there i was, walking around a large retail store that happens to carry house stuff as well as groceries and i grab a magazine. i figure the only way to properly gauge how comfortable a couch will be is to sit on it. and not just for a few minutes. a few minutes can be misleading. i wanted an idea of lounging on said couch for roughly the same time i would if it was in my home. so i proceed to sit and read. i would say close to 45 minutes pass and its still pretty comfy, so i decide to lay on it to get a feel for what it would be like to nap on said couch. well, i had been laying there with my eyes closed because lets be honest. if you walked by someone laying on a couch in a store staring blankly at the ceiling wouldnt you think that was a wee bit creepy? exactly.

so someone starts tapping my shoulder and saying miss, so i opened my eyes and low and behold, apparently this retail store that shall remain nameless had security. i was promptly escorted out. the whole time this overly large man was steering me to the door i was trying to explain that i was going to buy that magazine that he made me leave on the couch.

i mean seriously. i was going to be a paying customer. i swear.

i also may have stabbed a beef cut with a pencil roughly two weeks earlier in order to get it for half off so perhaps they recognized me.....

(now back to the present)
so anyways. i figure i might have found a couch that i would like to purchase for what will become my taj-mah-living room.i can even use this thing they refer to as 'lay-away'. from my feeble grasping of the concept i hand them money in an attempt to free the couch from the prison of their warehouse one paycheck at a time while whispering that eventually the trial will go in our favor and it will be pardoned. little does it know that as soon as i get her back to my place im skinning her and making new covers for her.

as for the tables... well. i know my way around a hammer and practically live in the parking lot of home depot (less than a third of a mile away) so i imagine that if i do some drawing and maybe a little math tossed with hopes and aspirations of greatness i just might get something that will have legs that dont wobble.

heres to hoping right?

still, domesticating ones self from being a commitment phobic, wanderlust addicted, road trip riding, world traveling genius with a penchant for cooking on a hot engine block is quite challenging. but i bought a bed. and my dearest mum bought me a wooden pub table. so really, i have no excuses. its time to grow a pair and put down some roots.

i dont know if beast agrees, because as i was typing dearest he promptly attacked my elbow. *sigh. but i do know he hates road trips. unlike mrs. foo foos kitty who loves them as long as she gets to sit on the dash of my car.