batshit stark-raving barkers (the latest on the tattoo)

the angel girl and devil girl's are all done, as well as the bulk of the background. i go to a tattoo convention in salt lake city, utah (yes, that is mormon central. yes, they have a tattoo convention. yes, it will actually be fun (my tattoo artist says it's always one of the best he has ever been to, and follows that up with the phrase: "the greater the oppression, the bigger the rebellion.") in feb to get more work done, and then one or two more appointments after that, and it will finally be done. i think we are about 35 hours in, at this point.

darth sardonic

60 and cloudy

the spaces between seats are narrow, and it is impossible to navigate them without bumping someone with my carry-on.

a lady next to me is sacked out in her seat. she has herself twisted to the side, her legs tangled under her, her face pressed against one armrest. i can't help but wonder if she will end up with a nasty red, hard-edged strip across one cheek when she awakes.

i do a double take as it appears an old grandmotherly lady a few rows over is openly reading a porn magazine. i am about to applaud her audacity, but upon closer inspection i realize it is just a full-page ad depicting two scantily-clad blondes sitting very close together.

ever since i hurt my thumb and subsequently launched upon this pictorial drafting debaucle, my writing is atrocious and i can only do it for a bit before my hand begins to ache.

the sky is a beautiful shade of robin-egg blue with the sun shining luxuriently. i'm going to trade them for the perpetual gray and drizzle i love so much.

the two ladies across from me are discussing a bad experience with another family member at a family reunion from which they are on their way home. one has a mannish, mr. spock haircut and glasses, and the other's sunglasses are tucked into a feathered 80's style 'do.

the one with gray spock hair grabs her water bottle, causing one of her bags to fall over, bumping the ankle of the sleeping woman, whom i wish, upon waking, would turn towards me so i can check her cheekbone.

another lady joins spock and tina turner hair, obviously related. there is a brief exchange, and the first two leave to get something to eat. as soon as they are gone, the third gets on her cell phone and proceeds to bad-mouth the first two at length to someone on the other end.

i decide they are this flight's terrorists, with plans to hijack delta dl 2758 to minneanapolis, and crash it into one of our national monuments, mt. rushmore. joke's on them, as nobody will even miss it.

i overhear someone behind me say, "i'm dying on the inside." i fight the urge to offer to match up the rest of him.

off to get some water and a snack.

other notes of interest: while i always miss the pacific northwest, i do not miss her traffic.

my back feels like someone used a cheesegrater on it. pics soon.

to the old fucker in the truck who nearly hit me/ran me off the road when changing lanes without signalling/looking; and the metric fuckton of commuters who slammed on their breaks in unison to rubberneck world's smallest and least interesting fenderbender: if i find you motherfuckers, i am beating you soundly till my arms drop off.

that is all.

darth sardonic

a lame ass attempt at an update

yeah yeah, don't even start.

i actually had a medium-sized post i had thought about doing, but after telling the details of the events to others who weren't there, and not receiving the laughter and such that i expected, i think it might be possible that said events fall into the categories: "funnier in my head" and "guess you had to be there" so i may or may not tell that story at a later date.

it's the first day of spring break. yay. bust out the six-pack surfer boys n the nubile bikini chicks (o and believe me, my droogs and only friends, my beloved ptitsas and malchicks, my non-existent readers, they are out, in full force. and yours truly isn't complaining about the bikini chick part either. pretty sure mrs. sardonic doesn't mind the increased presence of male eye candy for her daily commute as well. but i digress--)

tomorrow, in the afternoon, i fly back to the evergreen state (pierce county motherfuckers!!) to do another largish patch on the back tattoo. we rapidly approach the end of this megalithic testament to my artist's ability to create beauty in a patient person's skin.

i may post live from my mom's computer room, orting, washington. or i may give you, the beloved non-existents, a run-down of the week's shenanigans and debauchery upon returning to the land of surf n turf. i'm not sure.

however, until then.

darth sardonic

latest and greatest (barking mad)

there it is o my beloved non-existent readers. my artist thinks about three more appointments and it will be all done. i'm pretty jazzed about that.

sorry it is so small, but my buddy took the pic and i copied it from facebook, so there ya go.

darth sardonic

tourist-free traffic

i dozed fitfully on the six-and-a-half hour flight. there was no one of any interest near me, and i didn't want to finish my book too early.

i guess florida is the place other than the pacific northwest that i have been the happiest, because i didn't notice the wet pine/mountain air smell right off. of course, it is raining, and mt rainier is shrouded in cloud cover (as she somehow manages to do even when there is no other cloud cover in the sky).

the rental car place gives me a pt cruiser, about which i grumble to myself, and as i drive i find numerous reasons to hate them even more (...the space inside is allocated poorly, my cupholder is situated that i have to lean down almost to reach it, it's ugly...), but it is a car, and cheap, so off i go.

my appointment for my back was yesterday, and there was a general air of levity and humor in the shop. despite this, i am not really looking forward to six hours of aggravating pain.

"darth, have i used a rotary motor on you before?" scott asks.

"no, how are they different?"

"well, alot of the customers say they don't hurt as much."

and he is right. the more he does, the less i feel i need to tense up. the less my skin feels like hamburger. the less my jaw aches from jamming my chin into my cupped hands.

we talk about the rotary motor, how it does about the same job as the electromagnetic motor, but he did have to change his technique. the rotary motors always got written off as shit because they made them in prison out of cassette player motors. how one of his friends that he respects turned him onto them. i agree with him that it hurts considerably less, that it was "almost like a massage compared to the other motors."

we talk about skinny puppy and old ministry. how the only reason anyone knew lane staley was dead for two weeks is because his accountant noticed that his 9,000 dollars a day for heroine was no longer being taken out of his account. how 27 seems to be the magic number for these artist type's burnout.

"do you think it is just that that certain genius hits some point where it has to self-destruct. better to burn out than fade away?" i ask.

"i think it is a helluva lot simpler than that. i think when you are that popular, everyone wants to be your friend. and they will bring to you the things you like. 'you like alcohol jim? here ya go.' 'have some more heroine, kurt.' they don't even have to leave to get it anymore."

this seems like a brilliant, albeit less romantic, reason why we lose some of our possibly greatest minds before their time.

time rolls on.

"i'm definitely going to finish the angel's body today. then we could do the wings in dallas, and another to do the background, cause i can probably just get a mag and wash it in, and then one more, if you wouldn't mind, to just kinda put my blessing on it."

"yeah!" i am just thrilled that there is finally a light at the end of the tunnel.

i know i have really impressed scott with my diligence in coming back to finish my tattoo up. i somehow see, in his 20 or so years of tattooing, a long list of unfinished projects.

i hang out with s, my old friend from the inner circle of pizza hell, and we have a couple drinks and ride around lakewood looking for something to occupy our otherwise tired minds.

i know, i failed to post pics last time. but i promise (especially to you, byrd) that i will get them up as soon as my back is healed.

more to come, i've no doubt.

darth sardonic

more tatt

as promised o beloved non-existant readers. the devil girl is all done and the wing of the angel girl is started.

sorry i have been neglecting you all. not just you, but nearly everything else. it is because i have really been dedicating myself to my magnum crappus to try and bang it out once and for all.

this means i have let this blog slide. i have let the laundry slide. friends of mine ask me what the hell is wrong.

nothing, just plugging away at my book with a dedication that is really unlike me.

hope to be back very soon.

darth sardonic

6th n proctor

my tattoo artist actually spent the night in shivers n shakes due to the flu, and was all set to cancel the day's appointments, when he realized that this domeless wonderboy that he has been working on for ages (and who is a bit of a whiner) is actually flying in from fucking florida to get some more work done.

he pops two advil, sucks it up, and gives me the absolute best he can do, which turns out to be about 4 hours on the original 6 we had planned. all with frank zappa playing incredibly long and convoluted solos in the background. i had never heard frank zappa before. but i'm fucking digging it. that's right, straight from the rat rod, fifties-tough culture to a seventies, psychedelic drug culture within a mere 24 hours.

the devil girl is done, and a sizable chunk of the angel girl's wing is colored. pics to follow (in a week or so, you know, after it is healed).

then out and about in downtown tacoma with m, from the old pizza slinging days, where we pop into a nice bar and get an immense burger and a tom collins and i flirt harmlessly with the ridiculously hot bartender who should model or something.

back to m's dad's place for more drinks and wii golf. m is leaving for germany in a little over 20 days, and i have been gone from washington for three quarters of a year, and yet our hanging out is casual as it has always been, unplanned and easy.

how simple it was to forget just how cool my old stomping grounds are while i was here. how caught up in the day-to-day i became, that i somehow didn't notice the indian summers as much, the mountain, the crispness of the breeze.

i know i was sad to leave, but i think it was a good thing, and being back is making me love this place more and more.

darth sardonic

more on the tattoo

so dedicated am i, o beloved non-existants, to bringing you pics of my tats, that i woke up early so my wife could get this before i go in and have more added and my back looks like multi-hued hamburger, heh heh.

wife says, "can i include your booty in the pic?"

me: "well, i am going to be posting it to my blog, my tattooednation, and my suicidegirls, so your call."

as you can see, she opted not to include my naked ass. consider yourselves lucky.

darth sardonic

the latest on barking mad

here it is. the addition of the most recent work. too tired today to pony up a proper post, and had a rough rough day yesterday with the kids. leave tomorrow for vegas, so hoping to decompress there and will tell you all about it when i get back on sunday or monday.

darth sardonic

p.s. i realize my posts lately haven't been up to my usual snuff. i guess i just haven't been as inspired of late, but give it time, i will have it all back for you, o my droogs and only friends, soon.

an open letter to the beloved non-existants

what can i say, really? i mean, you guys are really helping more than you know for me to get through this little dip in the road.

and pixie, were i closer, we could be lonely and miserable together. but the british isles are a bit of a drive for me with two kids. and ty for reminding me that i don't really have it that bad, i know, really i do, in the back of my head, even in mid-whine.

i too, am looking forward to my blog when my wife gets back. i did alot of ranting. i was witty (well, i guess i am somewhat still). i still had my moments of massive deep feelings that would spill onto the page along with my tears, but not nearly as much as now.

the majority of you have only recently tuned in (mostly due to overcommenting on my part at sparx's blog, heh heh), and so have only really seen the mopey morose and ofttimes beleagured darth. i would encourage you, if you find yourself with free time and literally nothing else to do (i.e. showered, finger nails clipped, root canals all up-to-date), randomly pick a month from the archive and read through it, and maybe get a feel for the normal darth (first of all, those two things are a bit of an oxymoron, and second, this is normal me as well, just kind of put into a place of greater introspection through sleep deprivation, over-exposure to whining children, and missing important parts of my anatomy temporarily--the beauty of accepting the fact that you are a bucket of contradictions is the ability to accept that even when you are at your ugliest or most strung-out, even as you are shouting to the very heavens to crush you please, that is all still part of who you are, and doesn't negate the beauty that is within you and the good you do), and hopefully laugh as well. (funny, as i was rereading the line about being a bucket of contradictions to check and make sure i had gotten it right, i got a little choked up. a small bit of the malingering funk.)

other news in my world recently:

my mom and i were discussing some family issues, and she told me that she had told my brother that i had them (the immediate family) all beat, since i have always been comfortable in my skin. i almost asked my mom, what the fuck?!? clearly she missed the teen angst that lasted well into my twenties, hahahahaaa. it was odd to me to hear that even while i was torn up inside with dealing with, well, the fact that i am a bucket of contradictions, i seemed to present the image of being at ease with myself. i distinctly remember wishing on a nearly hourly basis that i was someone else, somewhere else, doing anything else than what i was doing. sometimes, i still do, though, except for here, i mostly keep it to myself.

i tore one half of my industrial out the other night. (i know, i know, you're all asking what an industrial is: it is a barbell that spans across the upper conch of the ear cartilege from front to back.) the front hole was pushing the barbell out, and i suspected i was going to need to repunch it (i may have even mentioned that here, can't remember), but the other night, i pulled it right out while removing my t-shirt. so i slid a small barbell through the back hole, and superglued the edges of the other together (you laugh, major hospitals use superglue on small cuts and stuff instead of stitches: it brings the edges together well, you don't need to be numbed, it protects the cut, and by the time the superglue falls off, the cut is well on its way to healing) and will have to wait a few months for everything to be healed well so i can repunch it, deeper this time, and get my industrial back. i also bled like fucking crazy, i looked like i had been in a battle or something. i should've taken a picture.

i got another three hours done on my back yesterday. when it is healed, i will post another picture. i probably have one more shading session, and then we will be into the color, which will take at least as long as the shading. barking mad, remember? barking mad.

there is little else at this moment to report. as we near the end of the week, i am feeling better, and the sun is actually out today. as they always say, this too shall pass.

and, with all of your continued help, it will pass pretty fucking fast.

darth sardonic

barking mad (the tat FAQ's)

to even know what i am talking about, one must check out the pic, post, and comments to my last post, entitled the tat.

pixie, i love that, yes, i am gonna go with barking mad. i always say certifiable, but i think i like barking mad even better, and may even put that on a t-shirt (i already have a t-shirt i had made that says: NOBODY CARES now get the fuck away from me and another that simply says pathetic, so i will simply add barking mad to that, wooooo hoooooo).

yes, it hurts. while doing it, and off and on during the entire healing process. not nearly as much as you might think, and i usually do a bit of the ol' ed norton in fight club while he is getting that nasty lye burn and kinda ignore it and focus on it at the same time (i actually see a penguin that turns into helena bonham carter with bad hair and tells me "slide" followed by pretty trees and flowers being desecrated by fire, heh heh). the healing part usually feels like a really bad rugburn or roadrash. after one of the sessions awhile back, i actually stuck to the sheets in the middle of the night and when i rolled over woke myself up with a jerk and then had to peel myself free, slowly. however, it doesn't hurt nearly enough for me not to continue going through with it. as for brave, not hardly, ref. above the whole "barking mad" conversation.

queeny, ibid. and laughed my damn ass off at steely ones.

bel, it is going to be full color like a painting. all my other tats are black with shading when necessary, but this one i wanted a complete color. and considering how fucking great the shading is turning out, i can't wait to see how the finished product looks.

it has taken a total of 12 hours so far (four three-hour sessions) and i suspect it will take at least another three hours to finish the shading (maybe more), and then at least that much again to color it. i figure over 30 hours total, at least.

wuastc, i did the peeking-undies thing just for you.

as i get more questions, i will edit in the answers here.

darth sardonic

the tat

so here it is. you know the chinese say be careful what you wish for lol. scott, my tattoo artist, is amazing. each and every little bit he does i get more jazzed about how the whole thing looks.

we're having a good day otherwise, here. kids are happy, and i am pretty rested and hence alot more fun for them to be around. he he.

that is all for today, o my beloved non-existants.

darth sardonic

woke up to my daily headache...

and the realization that you are gone

at the thrift store, no. 1 picked up a small (100 pieces) star wars puzzle. i got all excited, with visions of the three of us sitting around the table, bonding, spending time together, quality time.

when the kids finished their yogurts, they quickly cottoned to the fact that putting a puzzle together is not as exciting as one would hope, and begged off to play video games. i stuck with it with the puzzle, which was good, because they still ran in to check on the progress and spend a few seconds with me, and even placed a piece here and there.

so while it wasn't the domestic bliss i had imagined, it was still a bonding moment, and it was good for all involved, giving us each the pleasant time together that we needed to continue beating fuck out of each other the rest of the week.

it's been cloudy and rainy this week, and this has settled in to make us all quite a bit grumpy and sleepy. can't we just have 80 degree, sunny weather with just a hint of breeze? damn, either hot and humid or cool and humid.

received another dvd of the wife reading the boys stories. they loved it, and danced around excitedly. i smiled at their antics, and watched her read the stories and appear to interact, but it wasn't the gut-wrench that it was last time.

and that worries me. because, while i might be getting used to her being gone (it has been over two months--oh, but is now less than 50 days until she arrives again! yay!), i don't fucking want to be used to her being gone. i still want it to hurt, at least a little. i still want to long, and yearn, and pine for her, cause that is as it should be.

then a line in a song in the car yesterday set the front of the inside of my skull on fire, and i secretly breathed a sigh of relief as i beat back the tears.

the latest work on my tat is healed, now i just need someone i trust to take a photo, and then i will post it here.

no. 2 is finally showing steady progress in the potty training department. this is soooo wonderful. we have been getting relatively steady poops in the potty, and i am spending less on pull-ups. i am looking forward to being able to buy a packet of brand-new spiderman underwear, probably even more than no. 2.

darth sardonic

do you ever...?

do you ever sit down cause you had this really great blog post idea, and end up staring at the screen for several minutes while all those good metaphors leak out of your ears like chlorinated water after the pool?

no, of course i never have. i mean, c'mon! i'm darth sardonic.

i think i broke some kind of damn sitting-still-with-my-mind-a-complete-blank record. (while the monkey scribbled on little pieces of paper. can i have a banana? eek eek.) like the site of the posting screen on my computer is linked to some subliminal memory-erase dealy to render me senseless and dim, as if i have entered some piss-poor 1984 rip-off or something. the thought-police are going to kick in my door and find me seated in front of my computer with my eyelids at half-mast and drool dribbling down my chin.

"heh heh, we got 'im. never fails, that ol' subliminal blogger memory-wipe thing big brother 'as set up, yeah?"

i have been listening to a song alot in my car as me and the wee ones toddle around, the little blighters joining in from the backseat for the choruses, with much fist-pumping and head-banging. i have alluded to it before, but the more i listen to it, the cooler it is. i want to dedicate it to several people in my recent past:

"Jaked On Green Beers" (alkaline trio)

It's been a long time since I've been close to you
It's been a long time since I've been sad.
It's been a while since I've really spent time with you
Wish I could take back the times that I had.
The only thing that you ever really did for me
Was make me oh so miserable.
And the hope that I never see your face again
Is anything but questionable.
I hope this is goodbye.
I hope this is goodbye.
There was a time when I thought you were a friend to me
I think those times I was probably just drunk.
And if they offered a test about being a good friend
I'd put money down that you'd surely flunk.
The only thing that you ever really took from me
Were my records to sell them for dope.
Now all I have left is this heart in my chest
And my happiness helping me cope
I hope this is goodbye
It's been a long time since I've been close to you.
It's been a long time since I've been sad.
It's been a while since I've really spent time with you.
Wish I could take back the times that I had.
The only thing that you ever really did for me
Was make me oh so miserable.
And the hope that I never see your face again
Is anything but questionable.
There was a time that I thought you were a friend to me
I think those times I was probably just drunk.
And if they offered a test about being a good friend
I'd put money down that you'd surely flunk.
The only thing that you ever really took from me
Were my records to hawk them for dope.
Now all I have left is this heart in my chest,
Your dishonesty helping me cope.
I hope this is goodbye.
I hope this is goodbye....

for meathead, dickhead, the ex, and a handful of other twats and cunts still running around thinking they didn't fuck me over and wondering why i am such an asshole, heh heh. good riddance.

and i know, i know. this is a complete cheater post. but hey, i have already established that i had this incredibly clever and well-thought-out post that the evil totalitarian government has stolen through some kind of ethernet subliminal mind control thingamabob that is completely beyond my ability to grasp or combat.

in other news, the kids are well, the days have been lovely, the members of my family are all coppertone, we are swimming in grammy's pool later, i have gotten back into working out and eating right after a break due to illness/pissiness/tiredness/over all whininess, and today bought a pair of levis 501's that are a 34 waist that actually fit! this is pretty significant. because even back in the day when i was a scrawny-assed loser who wore 32 waist jeans, i had to buy 34 waist 501's for them to fit. these are, i will admit, a bit snug still, but fuck yeah motherfucker!!! i would pat myself on the back if i wasn't still sore from the tat that is still healing but coming soon to a blog post near you.

in the meantime, thanks for playing along.

darth sardonic

58 ...and counting

lest you, the o so supportive non-existant reader, begin to think that everything in this blog is doom and gloom and the slow descent into insanity (too late), a post in a lighter vein:

yesterday, we needed to get out of the house. all of us, the kids were going stir crazy, and if i spent another day moping around the house, i might have to put the sharp objects up to remove them from myself.

and since none of my friends had contacted me to see what i was up to, or what we had going on, i decided that a drive to long beach would be good for us. (long beach, washington, on the mouth of the columbia, not long beach, california) so we loaded up the car, and off we went. the kids passed out before we were really even on the road, and the drive was pleasantly therapuetic for me.

the sun was shining, the day was clear, the traffic was relatively mild. i had my eye on the clock, so that we could be back in time for me to exchange emails with my honey whilst she "worked."

since we got a late start, and long beach turned out to be further away than i had anticipated, and for the aforementioned reason, we decided not to plug full on, but stopped at a park on the columbia where people were fishing and laying out.

we found a quiet spot a little ways from the fishermen, and staked a claim.

no. 1 soon waded in deep, soaking all his clothes, and then laid down in the warm sand, turning himself into a largish ball of sticky dirt.

i tried to teach the kids the art of skipping stones, but they seemed more interested in simply throwing large rocks as far out into the water as possible. we watched in awe as a tug pulled a much bigger trade ship along, about a hundred yards out from shore. then no. 2 and i laughed at no. 1's efforts to return a heavy chunk of driftwood back to the river after the waves caused by the passing ships cast it ashore. the boys found a lovely green irridescent dragon fly, and we watched it quietly for several minutes as it fanned it's wings and ignored our existance.

we packed so much fun into such a short time, that if it hadn't been for bad traffic, we would've gotten home a half-hour before i had planned on.

of course, the big nap the kids got in the car assured they didn't go to bed until ten. despite that, they still woke up at five this morning and got crackers, cereal, and cheese (yes, cheese. i don't know either) all over the floor before i pulled myself like a wounded soldier from bed at nine.

but the house is clean. yes, clean. completely. not just like i put the dishes away. or just vacuumed. but all of it. dishes, vacuuming, watering the lawn, laundry (washed, dried, folded, AND put away), and i am thinking that a nap might be in order, or maybe just a good read on my book while the kids make a mess of the backyard and themselves. after they go to bed, i am going to work out, watch movies, shower, shave, chat, email, and god knows what else, considering that the cleaning i would normally do after they go to bed is already done.

why is it that the return trip from somewhere always seems to go faster than getting there in the first place?

and since there seems to be a bit of interest, if i can figure out how, after this last shading session heals, i imagine i can post a pic of the tat work so far. my wife hasn't seen it since the outline and one wing anyhow, and she will need a pic to show her how cool it is coming along.

darth sardonic

darth's vallejo back

yeah, so i made an attempt to post about round number three of the back piece. the shrieking of the kids and their repeated attempts to ignore anything i said that wasn't "by all means, play video games until the end of creation." or "here is food and drink, sup until thy sides burst." made it virtually impossible to focus on what i was trying to say.

so i saved it to draft.

well, the long and the short is, o beloved non-existant readers, it sucked ass.

so the cliff notes:

"hey, ready to get started?"

"yeah."

whirr whirr clackity clackity whirr whirr. (while zoning.)

"i need to go get rid of some taco bell."

"cool, i am gonna stretch my neck and check out what you've done so far."

[never, ever ever ever do this: before i stood up i was happily in the zone. i would even go so far as to say that the tattoo didn't hurt so much as it was just aggravating.]

whirr whirr clackity clackity whirr whirr. (oh my fucking god, is this appointment over yet? what happened between then and now that this hurts so damn much?)

and that is pretty much it.

nine hours into the cistine fucking chapel that is my back, o beloved (and no doubt snickering behind your hands) non-existant readers, and i think i have decided that i will still be working on this blessed thing until the roaches (and keith richards, whom they will worship like a god) have inherited the earth.

the last couple days, the kids have been experimenting with what happens when they ignore daddy completely. they have discovered that not being allowed to play video games at all, as well as being banned from movies altogether, really sucks. i have discovered it sucks for me, as well. the whining increases in frequency and volume. they have also discovered that daddy's stern voice can reach a volume and gravelliness that could be said to be hard on the eardrums. they have also discovered that increasing the amount of whining whilst not playing games or viewing movies also increases the potential damage to their eardrums. they have discovered that bothering daddy over and over again while he is napping on the couch is both hard on the book he was reading prior to dozing off, and their eardrums. they also discovered that after books learn to fly, daddy expands his 6'1" 200 lb frame to something that would rival the giants of old, as well as shooting lazers out of his eyes and emitting a sonic barrage that would fragment lesser beings. they learned that all of this causes an odd reaction within their own tiny frames: the instant appearance of copious amounts of salt water combined with the need to flee to the safety of their room. throwing their own toys around while in the safety of the room only causes the giant, lazer- and sound-wave-emitting daddy to come down the hall at a high rate of speed while the collossul sound waves that precede him reach an even louder and deeper frequency.

so after therapy (and the loss of nearly all priveleges allowed a young boy), i got the great idea that we would wash the car when we got home. i figured this would keep the kids entertained, and that i would be accomplishing something at the same time.

this was a good idea for about five minutes. five minutes is not enough time to wash a car. it is, however, enough time to soak daddy. it is also more than enough time to add dirt to the soapy water several times. five minutes is enough time for the oldest to bogart the hose, and to have it forcefully removed from his grasp a few times. it is plenty of time to get wet, dirty, and then parade in and out of the house, against express orders to remain outside, over and over again. it is enough time that had anyone on my block been home, children's services would no doubt have arrived to cart away my kids. (i say that completely in jest. i never laid hands on them at all, and i actually even overexaggerated the forceful removal of the hose--it's called creative license.)

doggedly, no, no. maniacally would be a more appropriate word, i continued to wash the car. this was completely stupid, as it looks worse than it did before. all filmy and dull and it is clear i am going to need to take it in to a car wash place and pay others to have it done properly.

i am competely unsure how two boys who battle sleep until nine at night before passing out on the floor of their room can wake up chipper and bouncey at five am. i go to bed an hour or two after them, and then am forced to search for binkies at ungodly hours of the morning, and remove toddlers with scratchy toenails that they use to take skin off of my thighs and hips from my bed, and finally drag myself like a half-dead slug from sleep when the alarm goes off a full hour-and-a-half after they have already been up and into shit.

however, this might explain the dark circles under their eyes, and maybe even the loss of hearing that they are both exhibiting.

darth sardonic

hoh boy

i've been tagged (again (but don't feel bad dj kirby, you didn't know that sparx laid this one on me previously)), this time with eight things about me and eight other (unlucky) bloggers.

ummm, so let's see...

1.) i used to write poetry incessantly, sometimes 5-6 a day. being happy with my life brought this stage of my writing to a near-dead stop. rereading most of the 1500 or so poems i have, they are clearly therapy. the vast majority are repetitive, whiney, self-absorbed, and in a word, suck.

2.) sometimes i drastically want people to hang out with me, be around me, even if we are not really doing anything. others, i want to be left the fuck alone. often, i can't find any friends who want to hang with me when i want, and then people call me to come over and i have to make lame excuses when i want to be alone.

3.) i took wood shop class my senior year. i had so many free electives at my small school that my choices were basically shop or be a librarian's assistant two periods a day instead of one. although it didn't really seem like my style of class, i loved it.

4.) being tired and whatever else from having my wife gone and taking care of my kids full-time with few breaks or rests has caused my writing typo-free to decrease ten-fold.

5.) sometimes i want to drop all the video games systems we own in a pool of acid. i would be completely unable to deal with the meltdown that this action would create in no. 1. it would last months, maybe years, and i just don't have the energy for that kind of long-term battle. i do, nearly daily, battle the amount of time spent playing video games.

6.) on rare occasions, the only thing keeping me doing my fatherly duties, and doing them well, is the fear of what others will think if i don't. i'm ashamed to even admit this.

7.) currently, my back aches from round three of the back-piece tattoo. i will blog about this sometime soon.

8.) i once joined a talent show as a "stand-up comic". the only previous experience i had as a possible stand-up comic was telling stories and what-have-you at parties and other gatherings. i rocked the audience. so much so, that the talent show coordinator, who managed alot of things like that in the area, would call me when she had another shindig planned, so that i might break up the singing/dance numbers. i did this for a few years, emceeing events, doing stand-up. in this time, i learned that i didn't really have the wherewithall to work an audience, if they loved me, i was great. if they didn't like it (or i perceived that they didn't like it: i tell the story about a talent show that was done in conjunction with an outdoor bbq for the medical center that i worked in. the stage was set up at one end of a large grassy area, and the attendees were spread out picnic style all over. i started off with new material; no laughs. i tried some stuff i had used at other shows to no avail. sweaty, and in a panic (and i am sure the panic was clearly visible on my face), i went to the same material i had used a year earlier with basically this same crowd (and at which they laughed uproariously), and nothing. anxious and damn-near tears, i said, "thank you, you've been a wonderful audience. peace, love and brotherhood (the tag-line i ended every show with)." and rushed off stage, feeling i had tanked like no other comedian had ever tanked in the entire history of comicdom. the next day, one of my patients said, "hey, you're the comedian! oh my god! that was the funniest shit i have ever heard!" turns out, due to the size of the field, and the dispersity of the audience, i couldn't hear the laughter.), i would get anxious and basically tank and bail. after what would turn out to be my last show bombed, i decided i no longer really felt the need to continue with my comedian career.

except here, possibly.

last time, i got maybe four people. this time i am going to tag everyone in my pals list. but in my usual inimitable manner, i am not even going to bother to tell them. if they read this, and are interested ( i am absolutely sure that tyler durden will just be thrilled), and i haven't already tagged them recently, then they can, if they so choose, play along. if not, well, it is a free country.

till next time.

darth sardonic

you must be of age and sober

i parked a block away from 38th and locked the prelude up tight. not far away, signs declared "one hour parking only, violators will be towed." i was definitely going to be longer than an hour, and wasn't going to be able to just leap up and move my car.

the door was still locked. despite my earliness, another patron awaits the noon hour, hands deep in coat pockets, shoulders hunched.

"odd, it's not cold." i think to myself, and decide that he's probably hunched up against his own nerves.

the door opens, and i walk into the waiting area. one of the other artists asks me if i am scott's twelve o'clock, and i nod.

"i'll let him know you're here."

"thanks."

i gaze at pin-ups on the wall, a faint hint of patchoolie and other incense vague in the air. after a few moments, scott comes out with my original drawing, lays it out on the counter, and says, "ok, here's what i have on this so far--pretty much nothin'."

i laugh.

"--cause i've been through all our maxims and stuff and i can't find any pictures that are similar to what you have going on here. so here's what i think we'll do, we've got six hours, we'll sit down and see if we can find anything that will give us a good starting point for our drawing, ok?"

"sounds good to me."

we sit on comfortable 60's waiting-room furniture, and pull out a stack of magazines. as i begin leafing through, scott asks the dread-locked artist with the down-eastah accent if they have any playboys or hustler (my original drawing came from two hustler girls, but due to how they are standing, it throws their balance off for a full back piece.)

a large box is produced, and we weed through old issues of ink and tattoo to locate a small handful of playboys.

we spend about an hour leafing slowly through the magazines, and the other artists even breifly displays his prized collection of big black butts, but despite the occasional "mm mm mmmm, check her out." we are no closer to having a launching-pad for the drawing that will become the piece of art that is to be etched into my skin.

we drive to the other store, where scott is sure he has some penthouse and hustler. we take a momentary break so that he can show me the bass he made from scratch, and tear out an add for a gay phone-sex line to pin onto the youngest artist's bulletin board.

"how about this one?"

"well, it would be ok, except the lettering across their lower bodies."

"shit, the blonde has her hands down the brunette's panties anyhow. maybe a bit less erotic and a bit too x-rated for what i'm going for."

"oh, hey, here's this."

scott has found one of his boris vallejo books. vallejo's art was the inspiration initially for my angel girl/devil girl design in the first place, and scott had picked up on that right away, and had said he wanted a vallejo style picture and effect for the final product.

i flip through the book, and there it is: siren song. i tap the page, rattatat, with my index finger.

"that's the one."

"yeah," scott says, "yeah. we could make this one more normal and get rid of all that demonic shit."

"right. and throw angel's wings on the blonde and devil's wings on the dark one."

"let's go."

off to kinko's for color copies, and we both agree that reversed is how we want the pic to be (i've no idea why i have always pictured the angel girl on my right side and the devil girl on my left, but in every incarnation of the original tattoo sketches, that is how it has always been.)

back to the parlor to draw it up, adjust the scales, claws, and web-fingers of the siren, and place wings on the two, and then back to kinko's to print out the full-size final product: a collaborative effort betwixt mr. vallejo, myself, and scott.

then down on the table.

i have a few tattoos. i wasn't overly concerned about the pain.

i should have been.

"sorry about that."

"sarright."

"i'm trying not to tense up or move, but my muscles seem to have a mind of their own."

"it's hard."

no kidding. most spots were on the same level as any other tattoo i have ever had. even the spine, which i had heard was one of the worst, only made my skull vibrate. but the muscles along the spine? oh my ever-loving god! and there was nothing i could do about the tensing each time he touched them with the needle, except be tense already when he would start.

and the absolute worst was one of the girl's feet, which trails down my hip-bone to the top of the buttock. i crushed my face into my hands, grimaced, and tried to tell if anyone was laughing at me behind my back.

after two-and-a-half hours, the outline is done. it is incredible in it's beauty, even more incredible at the hint of how involved it will be when done.

when i arrive home, my wife, who has always seemed skeptical about my latest and greatest "project", says, "ok, let me see it."

"now, you should know," i say, while unbuttoning my shirt, "there aren't any real hardlines in it, it is going to be less like a drawing and more like a painting, so the lines are sorta faint."

"oh my god, honey!" she says. i crane my neck, sore from the odd position and tensing for upwards of two hours, over my shoulder to judge her reaction.

she is on the fence no more.

"look at the detail. oh my god, give me your phone, i want to send a pic of it to some people."

as she takes a photo on my cell phone and sends it out to friends, she continues to stare at the baseline for my tattoo, eyes wide, mouth open in awe.

i am pleased.

the rest of the evening i receive text replies ranging from "that is gonna be hot!" to "daaaaaaaaaaaaamn dude." i don't even know how many people my wife, in her new-found fervor, has sent pictures to. i laugh as the replies keep rolling in.

the image is far from finished. lord knows how many more appointments i will need to complete the coloring and shading, and there is no telling the amount of ache that each one will bring.

but it is going to be worth each and every bit.

darth sardonic