He likes skulls

I embroidered these little skulls for my cyber- and now real-life-crush, Mr. Lightfoot. I embroidered the sugar skull first, but thought it might be too feminine. I then embroidered the black one, thinking the whole time, "imperfect" and "metal." I gave them to him when we finally met in person last weekend. I was nervous as hell. So nervous, in fact,  that I took a small bottle of wine with me on the train ride to meet him. Yes, I took the train to meet him. Shush; don't judge. I knew he wasn't capable of murdering me within the first few minutes of meeting. When we shared our first drink together, we made a toast to rope and chloroform. Oh and he doesn't know this, but when I would text my Top Seven with periodic updates on my safety, I would say things like, "still alive," "happy and unmurdered," and "not strangled yet." Is that morbid? I don't know, I mean, we did meet online... At one point in the past he questioned my desire to kill him. The nerve. You know I'm too lazy for that.

sugar skull

close-up of sugar skull

lots of french knots!

the back of the "metal" skull. i like it so much next time this will be the front.

metal!!! \m/

small skulls

this is how I finished the backs of them. it's not perfect but it's cute.

So I think he liked them because he... um... yeah, he liked them ;o)

Thank You Dave!!!!!

My buddy Dave (that I've known since fourth grade) made a bunch of mix CDs for Batina's potlick (typo but it's fitting). I got first choice and picked the one he had drawn a big flower on. He is now my official go-to mix-CD guy. This is one of the songs that I fell in love with on the CD. LOVE LOVE LOVE!!!!!

What My Insides Look Like

Three Blind Mice

I really shouldn't be awake right now. Considering how much I drank last night and how little I slept, I should be in bed, under my covers, with Murray in my neck, and sleeping. Last night's craziness started out when the power went out in my building. Thinking the maintenance men blew the fuse, I opened my back door to see if I could see anyone and was aggressively greeted by some hurricane-force winds and hostile rains. I named the storm Tropical Storm Coca Ina. 
I took off my Chucks and lay on my bed thinking, "What the hell am I supposed to do now?" I was friggin hungry but didn't think I could manage to get around in that storm. I was just laying here texting my cyber-crush Mr. Lightfoot when I heard the downstairs door open and a male and female voice in the stairwell. I assumed it was my cute downstairs neighbor and his girlfriend, rubbing it in my face that he had someone to get down with in the power outage while I was up here texting a hot piece four hours away. I was so happy/relieved/grateful to get a knock on my back door from Billy and Sh'Angela. Her name is really Angela but I've been watching RuPaul's Drag Race lately and those queens have permanent residence in my brain now (and in my heart, and Raven, in my loins).
Having gotten locked out of their apartment and getting soaked in the rain, they came to scoop me up to go eat and drink. Dee-lish.
So began our evening. We started out at Waxy's for dinner, pitchers of PBR, a Bloody Mary, and some Coor's Light. Afterwards, we headed to the Deuce, where we met an older dude named McCloud, who was quite the chatterbox. I think Billy and Sh'Angela heard his entire life story, while I continued to text Mr. Lightfoot. Seriously, he's freakin' dreamy.
After the Deuce we wanted to take Sh'Angela to the hostel to show her where we spent last Saturday night and where we plan on spending future Saturday nights (two words: hot foreigners). 
Billy wanted to change his wet clothes so we went back to their place. There, I drunkenly nailed the shit out of my shin on an insanely heavy van seat they randomly have sitting in their living room. We hung out there for awhile, and Sh'Angela and I walked over to David's to buy some water and sugary treats.
Back at their place Sh'Angela mixed up some Root Beer Vodka drinks and I couldn't drink it; I retched with every sip. Who thought a root beer flavored vodka was a good idea? It's not. Not at that board meeting, not when they manufactured it, not last night, not tonight, not next month, not when the world ends. Root Beer flavor + vodka = the taste in your mouth and the back of your throat after vomiting.
Billy changed and came out to the foyer where I had just taken a picture of myself and realized that my skin tone blended into the color of the walls, which were painted a ghostly-white not commonly found in nature. I took my hoodie off to take more pictures and when Billy zipped up his hoodie right behind me he managed to get the skin on my arm caught in his zipper. HOW does that shit happen?! It hurt like a mother, but definitely not as much as when my shin was violently introduced to the metal frame of the van seat. (Billy had said to me, "That's gonna hurt when you're sober." Uh, no betch, that shit hurt then, drunk and clumsy, that shit hurt.)
We never made it to the hostel. I was about to curl up on the van seat with Buggy but Billy handed me a jump rope, saying, "You need some energy? Here, jump rope!" For about fifteen seconds I was Rocky Balboa, jumping the shit outta that rope.
Once at Automatic's Sh'Angela's friend wouldn't take no for an answer and got me a beer, and then after I finished it, handed me another. I kept telling him, "No, really, thank you, but no, I really can't drink anymore." You wanna know what this guy said to me? He said, "Well, just hold it then." Clearly, when you give a clumsy drunk another beer to "hold," she's gonna drink it, and then, when the slutty barmaid pours a shot of vodka into said drunk's mouth, the clumsy drunk will spill her beer all over the bar. And that's when my liver got up and yelled, "SHUT IT DOWN!" and walked out of her therapist's office.

Billy always manages to find the most random things laying around on the streets and sidewalks of South Beach.

A piece of meat that looked like a whale. And yes, that is blood shooting out of his blowhole.

Sh'Angela and I at Waxy's.

 Sweet Buggy

Still life.

Those creme-filled vanilla cupcakes were super tasty.

Is that a ghost?! Oh.. no, it's just me.

 Sh'Angela is offering me some bronzer.

I love these two.

Strikin' serious poses.

Vodka bottle in the shape of a skull.

Billy, the skull-shaped bottle, me, and my bird hair.

I Think You Have Too Many Shoes

I made this bookmark for my cousine's bff Dave. One side reads, "these shoes rule!!!" and the other side reads, "these shoes suck!!!" 

Handstitched with love for a fuckin' rad dude. 

Don't be a BETCH.

My cousine Carina, AKA Goldie Hawn, is the most awesome female I've ever met in my life. She is a librarian, a feminist, a rescue-dog owner, and a constant reassurer to me that I also am awesome and it is the WORLD that's crazy, not me. Goldie is the only person that I actually enjoy talking on the phone to. She also introduces me to the greatest things, like Kelly (Lemme Borrow That Top), Psych, and the most annoying person I've ever met, our friend Rey (or as I like to call him, Rey-Rey). 

For Christmas this year I made her a bookmark with the word "betch" on one side, and "to goldie ... love joan ..." on the other. (I'm Joan Fucking Crawford, bitches)

I used a satin fuschia floss and it was pretty tricky at times but I really like the end result. Also, because I used fabric glue to adhere the two bookmarks together, it is very firm. (That's what she said!)

Diego Rafael

A few years ago I made a small cross-stitch for my brother Diego. I finally framed it and gave it to him this Christmas. (I know, I know, I take forever.) The original design was a Halloween theme; the skull and crossbones had small candy corn down the left and right sides and it read "Trick or Treat" over the skull. I wanted to personalize it for him so I kicked the candy corn and the original lettering to the curb, and stitched up his name. It came out pretty rad if I do say so myself. And I think I've gotten better with my time management. (Nope, I really haven't. I'll be late to my own funeral.)