Student Spring Show

Two pieces got accepted :)
This one, a mezzotint.

And then the first one below.
Reception's Friday at 6.

New Work.

Etchings and a monotype.

h-e-l-l-o

Good morning to you.
My computer has been M.I.A. for the past couple weeks. Had a failed logic board and display, to those of you that knows what that means. I think I liked its absence more than I thought I would. Don't get me wrong, I love my computer, I have a gross attachment to this thing. But I'm going to attempt to not allow my life to be consumed with the digital world anymore. Besides this blog, maybe. And youtube.

What has happened recently sans computer?
Joined a gym and have started going to yoga regularly.
Found a new addiction to ginger candy.
Auditioned for a play at school, surprisingly got called back and then got a role.
Wore shorts outside. Warned the public to put their sunglasses on.
Attempted to watch Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? then turned it off because it annoyed the fuck out of me.
Wanted Joan Crawford's character to just throw herself down the stairs.
Started reading before bed.
Ate all my food.
Bought tickets for San Francisco, a virgin to Virgin Airlines.

I'll be there tomorrow this time.

Perhaps hello to the beginnings of the new chapter in my life.

meyow.

Drive-By Press

Today Drive-By Press lectured in my printmaking class. Beyond epic. Wanted to go home and start working almost instantaneously. Realized how much the printmaking world is a social, communal kind of thing. Freaked me out because I'm usually the loner working neurotically by myself in my room at the last minute.
I want to do this. I'm gonna do this. Clean my shit up, have a working space, and get to it. Work hard, be kind, be genuine.
Also meet a nice, handsome, creative midwestern man with a wicked sense of humor and a mustache.
Also, be metal. Like Dennis McNett. Inspirationally-intimidatingly-badass work.



Also, do my global studies homework. I guess. Meh.

mo' money

mo' problems.

Last Calvin and Hobbes.

Woke up this morning with an incredible feeling of sickness. Felt like I was drowning in my own spit, gross, I know. On top of that I had heartburn like a motha' and couldn't believe how much I'd kill for some pepto bismol. What a stupid name. Then I got to thinking about all of the medicines I don't have that my mom definitely would have. How does she always have everything? It must be a mom thing. Then I thought I should call my mom to see how she's doing. I haven't. I will.
Back to original topic. Eyes were/are swollen. Skin's greasy as fuck. Everyone else is asleep, and I would love to be. So what the fuck is my problem?
You are hungover, Jessica. And way to jump the fuck around with narrative perspective.
Tequila's a brutal thing. Totally fucks up my ability to dominate in Mario Party. Still think I was dealt a shitty/rigged controller.
Whatever. I always end up walking like, 10 miles without even knowing it when I'm in Isla Vista. The world is a blur at night, and all the half-naked girls in heels and drunken dub-step loving neanderthals come out to play. Guilty pleasure: I like dub-step. Maybe I'm too harsh. But when it's fucking anything below 60 degrees outside, I'm going to need a sweater. Whiskey-induced-warmth or not. Fuck I need some cough syrup.
Anyways, add to my hangover the feeling of running a marathon. All exercise benefits from stumbling around for a couple hours are cancelled out by the spicy spinach pizza, Morningstar buffalo wings and Pringles that I engorged myself upon before sleeping. No wonder I have indigestion.

Last night was fun. A total blur. I'll miss John and Becky when they're back in SF. As for right now, I just want to sleep.


Cool picture of the Rockefeller Center on December 5, 1933? Why, yes. Yes it is.

Like that strumming.

In a bluesy kind of mood. Thanks, Matthew.

Chopin.

Reminds me of sitting in the backseat of my dad's Lexus as a child. He treasured that car. Kept it immaculate. Always smelled like new, clean leather.

Chopin will always remind me of Burlingame and autumn in Northern California. I feel safe when I hear this song, and when I close my eyes I'm lost in memory.

Malibu and coke

fresh pan-seared fish.

the single life.

valentines grinch.

Happy Vday from the valentines grinch, herself. I woke up at 4 pm and perhaps it's a mixed blessing to have slept through the entire day. Word of advice, never take cough syrup with codeine at 7 am.

Headache. Went to El Pollo Loco yesterday and ordered a side of "Fresh Vegetables." Watched the guy throw a plastic bag of broccoli into the microwave. Smelled horrific and was exiled to the balcony to eat. Sorry for wanting to feel healthy, guys.

The light still feels like it's sunrise, only now it's sunset. Sunsets are exponentially more depressing than sunrises.

Soon I'll finally pull myself from this wonderful nest of blankets and then proceed to throw some clothes on. Maybe eat a burrito. Drive down state and buy myself a fancy bra. Perhaps tea. Some chocolate?

I'll tell myself that I won't look at the couples because I assume they'll either make me bitter or shitty feeling. But perhaps I'll get lucky and be indifferent. That's probably what will happen.

Still headache. These microfiber sheets are better than any valentine.

Fuck it. I'm not going back to bed.

I'm just going to lounge.

This morning I had an epic conversation with Kyle Economou that made me feel a little better. He introduced me to the most peaceful looking picture in the world. I want to be here, with my pet wolf, and I shall name him Kiba. Then we shall watch the sun simply light up the winter mist as the day proceeds cooly, calmly and crisply. It will just be the two of us, and that will be fine.

Tiny spheres of glass like constellations on the
Shoreline
Under my feet
Under my nails
Swept up in the tide, swirling into mud
Sucking me under and holding
Me steadily
Until I break away.
Shifting beneath my soles
Strange sense of comfort
False sense of calm
Fleeting state of tranquility
Filled with the dark, pooling ink
Reflecting the night sky
Hiding a universe below.

No Hot Water.

Alright, men, you're fine with this. But I, however, am not. I do not want to boil water in preparation for cleansing myself as if I were on the god damn prairie. It is cold and wet outside, and all I want is a fucking hot shower.

And the last time I checked the guys shower floor in IV was black.............fml.

Content.

As in, I'm feeling good. Too good. Too satisfied when I go to sleep at night and too OK with the fact that I'm waking up in the morning. I'm absolutely mortified for this feeling to go away. And that sucks that I can't just enjoy the feeling good; that I'm already dreading the shit, again.

I feel strong and attractive and could honestly give a shit about shit when I step out into the world. I tell my over-active over-analytical brain to shut up when it goes into overdrive.

I fucking will not and cannot allow myself to sabotage myself. Next year I'll be in a completely new environment surrounded by people I do not know. Make the most of the time you got now, Jessica. Make the most of every fucking day.

rainy morning movies.

In other news, I hope my midterm isn't today.

Damon Albarn

I like you.

I want to go on a backpacking trip across Europe. Fall asleep on trains in Rome and wake up in amsterdam. Have nothing but the clothes and toothbrush in my pack and meet all the different people I can. End in Paris. Get lost. Get found.

The bro who cried wolf.

Girl behind me stop eating and having a whispery whiney voice. Someone's a bit anxious.