the “I’m actually a fucking psychic” post.


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yeah. I’m actually a fucking psychic. WHAT OF IT? I have no idea why that began so aggressively.

Proof #1:  So there’s this ex-lover of mine who ALWAYS texts me or talks to me in some way the day after I have a dream about hir.  It’s kind of magical.  Idk what it means, I don’t even know if I ever want to date hir again there’s just this…connection. FUCKING PSYCHIC.

Proof #2: I rock the tarot cards….and…like….75% of the time they’re right.  Pretty damn good, if you ask me. FUCKING PSYCHIC.

I think we all agree that this proof is enough…

So there’s this book about five love languages.  I fucking hate that book. Ugh…douchey ex girlfriends’ ex pathetically trying to use it to rekindle something…UGH..While I was dating the ex.  um, dramz. OK.  I don’t actually hate the book, but it’s healthy enough to irrationally dislike a book because it was used in several attempts to break you up with your girlfriend, right? Right.  (haaaaay AWKWARD.)

Anyway, the stupid book has a point. (not like I’ve ever read it)  We all have different ways we accept and give love.  I, for instance, am more focused on the love that I give.  OBVS I want to receive love too, but I focus on giving love in the form of support and kindness.  I’m a super (obnoxiously so) positive person, so I’m always telling people I love that I love them and that they’re great and wonderful and amazing.  And I mean it. (friends too!)  The craptastic book says there are only five love languages (apparently.) But, I think there are tons.  And I’m fucking psychic. So I’m right.  Also, there are no rules. Don’t limit yourself to five languages.  Rock the trilingual lovin’, darlings, don’t limit yourself.

Look, I’m as cynical and jaded as the next person.  I rock the jackoff motion (at least mentally) during most cutesie moments as well as when people say “I just knew” about their lovers. I mean, shit, didn’t YOU “just know” about every person you’ve ever dated? (If you just say it about every person you date, you’re bound to get it right sometime, right?)

 But there are some things that are just magic. Some people just feel perfect. One amazing person was perfect for me because of the magic between us. There’s a guy who was perfect because he loved video games and spoke in random accents…JUST LIKE ME!  A girl who was perfection because there was not once in the two years that we dated when could I foresee NOT being passionately into her.   …a guy who’s perfect because he always knows what to say to me and, well, he just feels right.  …a girl who loves the same art as me….

Who knows. Maybe in a few months I’ll be starting a post with “well, I just knew.  Now throw it in my face, you smug cocksuckers.”  And I expect each one of you assholes to throw it right back in my face.  And I’ll tell you, “NO. I just knew because I’m a FUCKING PSYCHIC.”

Until then:

really, I just look for pictures and figure out how to tie them into the blog. But, tell me this isn't a rockin' pic. Bad. Ass.

I’m off to paint and cuddle with my kitteh in hopes to sooth my hurty back, cankle and uterus. (all unrelated pains…sadly)

Stay amazing you delicious little blogdrops.  I’m sorry for calling you assholes.  I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Swearsies.



open heart. open arms. <3


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When I first began painting, it was because because I had too many feelings.  Writing just wasn’t helping anymore. Besides being just naturally too emotional,  my boyfriend of 6 years’ father had just died (I miss Roy every day), and I had a crazy crush on a girl.  The only thing I could do was buy some paints and canvas and paint it out.  And, oh man, did I paint it out.  I felt like I could paint anything.  I was so obsessed with these feelings that, instead of just glazing my feelings over (ie: i feel sad, I love this girl, i’m depressed) I dove deep into them. (what about her did I love? What tiny details did I remember about Roy?) For me, it was the best therapy.

I’ve been missing that in my life.  Sometimes, especially at work, we tend to just glaze over our lives.  We don’t take pleasure in the details.

[enter one of the best Reality Bites quotes EVER]

There’s no point to any of this. It’s all just a… a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. So I take pleasure in the details. You know… a Quarter-Pounder with cheese, those are good, the sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter becomes a cackle… and I, I sit back and I smoke my Camel Straights and I ride my own melt.”

Oh Troy.  You were so badass and such ’90s grunge perfection.

I’ve been following the Occupy Together movement and I’m absolutely floored by the amount of passion that it’s sparking in people.  I’d actually felt pretty apathetic about it until I spoke with a coworker about it who just has a knack for getting me passionate about issues.  That’s what this is about.  Having feelings about what’s going on and letting them be known.

When I began painting, I was getting out this passion…this love for something.  And, come to think about it, every great painting that I’ve done has been great because it was made out of passion. 

Passion is so worth it.

How great.  I feel like I’m getting over my numb-jadedness.  I saw a picture of my Jedo today,  (Jedo is Serbian for grandpa)  and, suddenly, I remembered all of the wonderful things about my Jedo that I love.  Like: he has the biggest ears, he always smells like halls cough drops and the way we would laugh when he said “tree” instead of “three”.   And how he still tells me to “behave because I can’t strike you when I’m not around you.” When he’s never struck me.  And how, when my Bubi (serbian for Grandma) starts yelling at him, he quietly chuckles to himself and says “yes, hun.” My Jedo.  He’s art.

It’s just another step on the way to keeping my heart open and loving the things (peeps) around me.  One detail at a time.

This is what I’ll be spending my time on: noticing the wonderful details of the people I love. 

Stay amazing, lovelies. 



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