If you haven’t already heard, my dear blogger friend Sister Wolf lost her son earlier this week.  WendyB, the guru and saint that she is, is keeping everyone updated.  If any of you have messages you’d like me to get to Sister Wolf, leave them in the comment section and I’ll see that she gets them.

Light a candle and please keep her in your thoughts.  And if you haven’t done so in a while, call your parents and grandparents.  They miss you.

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.

*I was listening to a lot of Faith No More today…but I do actually care.

Since it’s now officially fall and the weather decided to fall below 88 degrees, I decided to have a 15% off sale at Talonalia.  In fact, I care so much that I’m going to be announcing a few hour-long 50% off sales throughout the week.  Assuredly, this is not an attempt to bolster followers; I’m just impulsive like that.  =D

Discount code is FALL15.  On twitter?  Follow me here.

Today was (unseasonably?) cool, so I took advantage and wore a jacket.  Can you imagine?  A jacket in September in Los Angeles.  Perish the thought!

Dudeguy and I got into it on the way home, so I was out a photographer…sucka.  I used the opportunity to go exploring on the second floor of the house I live in.  A couple of people left recently, and there was one completely empty room with a mirror on the wall.  Naturally, I assumed it was a photo studio.  Yaaaaaaaaaaay.

Now, I know way back when I first started this here blog, I was supposed to do a formal post on the house.  I’ve toyed with the idea, but would rather not put all the secrets, stories, and general weird happenings that are said to have gone on here out into the internets.  I don’t think anyone would come and visit.  In fact, several of my friends have vowed not to come back over.  I don’t know why.  Nothing ever happened to them while they were here…

Ok, so MAAAAAAAYBE it was because I told them that the house was potentially haunted because a family that used to live there disappeared sometime during the mid-1900’s and all their pictures and furniture are still on the first floor.  No biggie.  I hardly think that’s a reason to never come back over to someone’s house, but that may just be me…

I probably shouldn’t have showed them the blood on the walls, huh?

Possible apparitions aside, it’s a pretty freakin’ sweet house.  Craftsman style, root cellar in back, servant’s quarters complete with dumb waiter, a huge garage, sun room, huge porch, and (my favorite) an old-timey den.  It looks like the room the men retired to to smoke cigars and listen to Orson Welles on a bakelite radio while sitting in big leather chairs.  If I had enough nerve, I’d chill in there, but it just feels weird.

All that said, we’re having a Halloween party!!!  It’ll be on the top level above all the old furniture, pictures of disappeared people and blood on the walls…just saying…you know, in case anyone was concerned for their welfare and sanity.  =D

Wearing
Kill City jacket
Pleasure Principle dress
Acne Atacoma wedges
Brixton hat
Vintage Poran & Mexican hammered knuckle rings

While going through my spam filter, I found a comment that basically accused me of violating the migratory bird act because I sell castings that look a lot like bird parts.  I have a strict “NO ASSHOLE” policy re: comments here, so it won’t be posted (remember to ask before you ASSume ladies and gents), but I wanted to clarify for anyone who was wondering.  Each piece in Talonalia was cast from items from a taxidermist’s shop.  Molds were made and the final products are completely brass.  I do not sick my army of cats on wildlife, because that would be dreadful.  Besides, I’m way too squeamish to engage in that activity.

Everything in Instant Vintage, however, was made from the precious breath of newborn children that I stole with a device similar to the one the Skeksis used to steal Gelfling essence in The Dark Crystal.  It’s possible that I’ve violated tons of laws  making the stuff there, so make sure you report me to the proper authorities.

And speaking of, here are several pictures of me wearing my huge ass (and conflict-free) Owl Talon necklace:

Wearing:
That thrifted shirt I like to turn into a skirt as a dress (thanks for the idea, Jowy!)
Thrifted jacket
Vintage Bruno Valenti shoes
Talonalia Owl Necklace and Hawk Talon+Vintage Bracelet