Ok, I’m being a horrible blogger in the consistency category.  Mitigating circumstances, I assure you.  See, the place that I work is a bit…enthused…about Halloween.  Umm yeah.  I have about 150 pictures to go through so I can properly post about what was taking all my damn time/energy/attention/life force.  I won’t mention the party at my own house that I’m prepping for now.  So…much…labor…

Here is a picture that I didn’t post from earlier this week.

thrifted mixed with some F21, some handmade, and those ridiculous shoes that I seem to never take off.

And to the lovelies that asked, I got the metal bra here and my collage was done in Photoshop.

Yeah, I’ve been MAJORLY sucking at getting back to comments and blog hopping, too.  This should be back to normal next week….hopefully…maybe?

No, it’ll be back to normal.  =D

**just an FYI, this section is where I’m throwing my latest acquisitions, coveted items, and maybe (just maybe) some designer features…work in progress.  Just saying. **

Today, while catching up with the blogs I silently follow in my reader, I saw a post about how a blogger was affected by the worst shade of green; the silent, self-destructing envy she felt toward others.  After reading it, I went to comment on the actual blog and saw that the post had been deleted.  I can imagine why the author would second-guess publishing her innermost thoughts on this issue.  Hell, I’m debating whether or not to post this myself.  What’s motivating me to keep it up right now is that it’s the long version of what would have been my comment.

While I was reading the entry, I went from not being able to really relate to seeing a clear image of myself within it.  I realized that I, too, suffer from looking at several areas of my life with green-colored glasses on.

Luckily, I escaped the plague of having issues with my body.  While growing up, I knew I was going to be bottom-heavy, that my Chinese great-grandfather was responsible for my short legs, and that my grandfather was responsible for my freakishly small hands.  All things I could deal with (the first I welcomed with open arms – LOL).  I’ve worn my hair nearly every way possible, so I managed to miss the feeling that I had to wear my hair straight.  Or nappy.  Or long.  Or short.  I’ve done it all.  I’m ok with the fact that Victoria’s Secret (along with most other stores) aren’t too keen on carrying my bra size.  Whatevs.  The boobs and I get along just fine.  I’m happy with the way I look for the most part.  The hyperpigmentation I can TOTALLY live without, but overall – since there wasn’t much pressure related to appearance when I was coming of age – I’m content.

The pressure came from the high priority that was placed on education.  I came from a house where going to college was an assumption, not a possibility.  I was dubbed “the golden child,” destined to carry the torch for my family.  I was to set the standards for my class.  I often did.  I was a voracious reader.  I was great at math.  I bounced from school to school because (per my parents) I wasn’t feeling challenged.  I actually remember mentally correcting my 2nd grade teacher when she kept mispronouncing “colonel” while reading a book to the class.  Precedent set.  I managed to graduate from  high school at 16 and college at 20.  With a proven track record of scholastic achievement, EVERYONE expected me to do great things.  Like, Connie Rice and Donna Brazile types of great things.

Umm, yeah…I’m not doing anything close to that.  Sorry I let all of you down?

It’s hard not to feel like I’ve fallen short.  I’m surrounded by people who have accomplished some amazing things.  I look at them in absolute awe.  Sometimes that awe sows those tiny green seeds that grow into unsavory thoughts.

On the surface, it’s easy for me to think, “I’m so glad I don’t have to compare myself to (hot chick of the day),” but the truth is, I compare myself to people all the time.  Instead of wishing I looked differently, I wonder why I work where I work instead of working for myself/starting a mini-empire like this one.  I lament not owning my own place like several of my friends do.  I’m irate at the fact that I’ve never moved out of the city on a whim and tested the waters overseas like this other one.  I hate not being as successful as those people over there.  As I read further on the now deleted post, I realized that a lot of me is colored the worst shade of green.  Even more tragic is the self-condemnation that comes as a result.  I get angry.  I get depressed.  I feel like my life is going nowhere. I get jaded about my future.   The negativity intensifies when I feel like doing all of these things is within my power, but I can’t shouldn’t do them because I have dudeguy, bills, and furry children (read: my army of cats) to think about.  Ahh, the double edged sword of responsibility…how I loathe you.

Thank goodness there is a host of therapeutic music that I can listen to.  Bilal’s Sometimes is one of my go-to tracks when I get in a mood.

*sigh*

I’ve got a long road to walk until I’ll be able to say I’m truly happy with me; with who I am, where I am, and what I have.

Ugh…I hate walking…

I’ve been working, I swear!

After many hours in the lab, I’ve managed to crank out more than a couple of things to list…it’s actually listing them that seems to be the issue with me.  In an effort to at least seem productive (and instead of letting them languish on my desk), I decided to debut my latest accoutrements here so people besides me and dudeguy could actually see them.

A few weeks ago, I had the strongest unction to make rings with roughly cut gems and stones.  The one I’m wearing is a simple adjustable antique gold toned band and clusters of amazonite.  The color is gorgeous.  It reminds me of my old Crayola favorite, Jungle Green.

Are we digging the shiny bit on the shoes?  You liiiiiiiiiiike?  I liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike!  (Dixie Wetsworth game proper)

It was only a matter of time until I decided to whip together boot and shoe chains.  I’ve loved them (boot chains, specifically) for years and am left to wonder why I didn’t start making them earlier.  No matter, though.  What’s important is that they’re finally made here!  At present, there are 4 full pairs (including the ones I’m wearing) and one purely ornamental embellishment on my desk listed in the etsy shop.  Hopefully, you guys will be able to see them all via the blog this week.  Hopefully.

Wearing
Kill City Jacket
Thrifted granny Vegas shirt covered in copious amounts of sequins
Altered F21 jeans
Acne wedges
InnyVinny ring and boot chains

—

I’ll be doing some tweaking of the blog throughout the week as well.  Nothing overtly noticeable (with the exception of the headers, of course), but soon it should become a lot more…streamlined.

Spent Friday night turning this into cool stuff.  Let’s hope I can finally (FINALLY) get some new things in etsy. It’s so barren in there. I know I’ve been talking about it forever but honestly, if I’m not excited about something for more than a day, it doesn’t go into the shop.

**Here’s hoping for the continued excitement over the new stuff covering my desk at the present.**

Oh, and you can pretty much scratch everything I said in the previous post.  Apparently, the rain was a fluke, it’s still the middle of summer and 91 degree weather is now what I should be expecting.  Gotta love So Cal.

I know Southern California is known to be the land of endless summer, but contrary to popular belief and Tony! Toni! Tone! songs, it actually does rain.  And it’s horrible.  Absolutely horrible.

Ok, it’s not that bad.  Given our recent hellish fire season courtesy of this asshole and drought, it’s actually a welcome change to the weather.  I don’t normally go for anything under 73 degrees, but the grey skies and intermittent downpours are quite nice.  Thankfully, I was prepared for this.

Although I love the all-purpose and ubiquitous tights in cooler weather, I was overcome with the urge to get over-the-knee socks a couple of weeks ago.  I went to my standby-for-this-sort-of-thing and found these.   Super thick, super long, and super slouchy; absolutely perfect for below the waist warmth purposes.

Up top, I was going to need something more than my newsboy cap.  Yesterday, I went by my favorite yarn shop, got a skein of worsted mohair in a mottled black, and got to work.  After watching Hell’s Kitchen, reruns, and Conan O’Brien (Eddie Izzard was on last night – SCORE!!)  I had this:

Yeah, it’s pretty safe to say that I’ll be living in this as long as it’s raining outside.  =D

YAY for cheap closet updates!!

Wearing:
Handmade beanie
Vintage dress
F21 grey cardigan
Vintage leather jacket
Sock Dreams OTK socks of deliciousness
Docs

Preamble

I am all for people believing in what they believe.  However, when people try and force their beliefs on me, I take issue.  Forgive me for bringing such a controversial topic up on this here blog, but this pissed me off to no end this morning.

—

Not long after I posted the last blog about my tattoo (and reading the lovely comments you all had to offer – thank you!!), I go to check my facebook messages and there is one from a old high school friend that I haven’t really talked to since my first or second year of college (read: 2002).  The note read:

hey girlie, its been a while. i was reading your note about your dad. i think chey told me about it a few years ago when it happened. im sure its still a process. anyway, i know you love him and wanted to do something special for him, and Im not sure where you stand as far as your relationship with Jesus is concernced, but this is what God’s word says about tattoos:

Lev. 19:1,28- The Lord also said to Moses, Give the following instructions to the entire community of Israel. You must be holy because I, the Lord you God, am holy. Do not cut your bodies for the dead, and do not mark your skin with tattoos. I am the Lord!

Love you,
ttyl

http://www.joelstockstill.com/page/2/

*pause*

My thought process after reading this is as follows:

Wow, I haven’t heard from her in a while.   Did she really just pull the Leviticus card?  Seriously?  Wait.  Ok, she’s probably concerned about the state of my soul…Wait, no…Did she really just pull the Leviticus card?  I don’t think she knows I have four tattoos.  For real?!?!  Woooooooow…This is funny.  For real?  Quoting scripture to me about my tattoo…riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight…

After I grew increasingly more upset, I wondered if I should even respond.  I don’t know why I wondered over this so long given my argumentative nature, but I wondered.  I even consulted dudeguy.

Now, I don’t know if I’ve given you all a full background on the unicorn of this blog, but he is probably the most interesting person I know.  He’s extremely intelligent, well-read, has the most “fuck you and your bullshit” attitude, cooks exceedingly well and can mix a great drink.  All of that and he is unapologetically agnostic.  Basically, he’s made of WIN.  You can imagine what he said after I told him what happened (keep in mind that we’re unbelievably crass).

“She’s asking about your relationship with Jesus Christ?  What you and Jesus do behind closed doors is none of her damn business!”

I love him…so much.

Anyway, after much talking, thought and deliberation, I responded with this:

Now this is not an invitation to debate about religion, call me a heathen, blah (x3).  I’m pretty steadfast in what I do and believe in and have no  plans on feeling guilty about it, converting, or reverting.  If that’s not the case with you, I fully respect that.  However, the minute someone calls my action(s) into question without applying the same “concern” across the board to everyone that doesn’t fit into the standard they half-heartedly hold themselves to is going to get a supreme side-eye from me because that, friends, is judgement.  It’s pick-and-choose judgement masked with someone else’s words.

UNCOOL.

This is just too damn much to deal with in the morning.  I don’t even have a picture to offset all of this text.  Boooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

—

Addendum/Post Script (because I’m an asshole)

PAUL NEWMAN EVERYONE!!!!!

*stands up and drops mic a la Randy Watson in Coming to America*

Two years ago yesterday, my daddy died.   He suffered a massive heart attack while sitting at his desk at work. Two days before, we had gotten into one of our trademark spats. I hadn’t spoken to him since.  My last memory is of him on a hospital bed, face covered in an oxygen mask – gone.  The image is seared in the back of my mind.  I wish it weren’t.

The relationship I had with my father wasn’t an easy one.   We were both stubborn, passionate, ill-tempered, and easily excitable.  We were cut from the same proverbial cloth.  I’m pretty sure that was destined to be; my father named me after himself (his middle name was Ali).  I feel like he should have known that I was going to be a miniature version of him and planned accordingly.  Not so much.  We had great times and horrible times at the hands of our egos.  One day, we’d be going back and forth about who was cuter (me, obviously) and who drove the faster Mustang (I’ll admit it, the SVO had my 5.0 beat).  Other days, we’d be at each other’s throats in a shouting match that could be heard well past the walls of our house.  In hindsight, I can appreciate the love that fueled such a volatile relationship.  It made me who I am.  I miss it.

—

Yesterday, after braving the streets of Los Angeles from Inglewood, to Los Feliz to Hollywood, I got my fourth tattoo.  Apparently the tattoo convention was this weekend and everyone decided it would be a great idea to be there instead of in their damn shops.  I actually called one place to inform them I was on the way only to pull up and see the guy LEAVING.  LEAVING!!!

But I digress.  The tattoo itself is simple text reading “Golden Child.”   This was my dad’s nickname for me (all of my sisters and brother have them…I think I got the best one =P) in my father’s handwriting.

Not long after he died and my mom, sister, and I had to umm…abandon…our home of 15 years, I was going through my piles and piles of shit looking for things to sell.   I came across a book that dad had given me for my birthday earlier that year; Essence’s 50 Most Inspiring African-Americans.  I’d only thumbed through it a couple of times before, but this time I noticed that he had written me a note on the inside cover. I burst into tears after reading it. In fact, I’m welling up as I write this now, remembering myself reading it back in 2007.  So emo.

Dearest Alicia,

Use this book as inspiration to get to the top.  I know that you are destined to be in a future edition.  Fly high Golden Child.

Always Your Daddy

*pause for loud church-lady-at-funeral type caterwauling*

Alright.  Emotional outburst over.

This one is for you, dad. I know you hate tattoos, but as vain as you are, I know that anything related to you being permanently etched on to my person is bound to make you smile.  I love you.

Muhammad A Nassardeen

November 16, 1952 – October 11, 2007

Playing around with plaid and leopard print.

Trying to figure out how I’m going to squeeze a week’s worth of activity into one weekend.

Working on new stuff for Talonalia and Etsy.

Planning the location of my next tattoos.

Plotting on a new site design.

Procrastinating.

Once again, I’ve managed to partner with chickdowntown.com again for a giveaway.  Up for grabs is a Rachel Leigh Pyramid Bangle in a luscious dark stained wood. 

Given my own obsession with hand and wrist candy, believe that I am most upset that I can’t enter.  Wood would look really nice against all this silver I have going on.  That along with this Rachel Leigh ring (so I won’t forget…stuff) and this Mawi ring (because it’s just dope as hell).  And maybe a pretty pleated Collection Eighteen scarf…

Clearly I’m an accessory fiend…but more on that later.

You know the drill.  Leave a comment telling me how awesome you think this bracelet is.  For an extra entry, follow Chickdowntown.com on Twitter (Amy is doing a giveaway EVERY.DAY.  If for nothing else, follow for that opportunity).  Contest is open to both domestic and international readers (latter is responsible for customs fees).  You have until 5pm PST Monday, October 12 to enter.

It must be the season of giving around here.  Nothing like an early Christmas.