Category Archives: angry

I am I will I shouda coulda and ALWAYS read the fine ART print within posts when it is about WORDPRESS

UPDATE

WE CAN LINK to our ETSY SHOPS from within POSTS!!!! YAY!!!
Thank you Toni

Yes, with the change of seasons comes a change in health. It seems I get struck first by the 24 hour vomit flu and now the going on 96 hour sinus, sore throat, congestion cough cold headache kill me super bug illness. To top it off I have a beautiful blasted cold sore growing on my lower left lip again.

In other news, I’ve purchased an archival printer. Let the bells ring out and the angels sing!

Glicée Prints are available in my Art Shop as of today! More will come as the healthier days commence.

You can get to my art shop in one of ONLY two ways from this blog as WordPress.com has rules about linking to paying sites such as an art shop. You can click on over to my about page or you can click the link found in the upper left navigation menu.

And for the record I don’t only blog because I have an Art Shop. I blog because I love it. It’s another medium for me to bend at whim. To quote what I wrote in 2006 over at the Blog Herald:

Blogging is like opening up a new pack of crayons at age six. It is an artist’s medium; as Letraset is to Mac, hand journaling is to blogging. This new form of journaling; recording information in real time, has struck a chord with me. The sound of tapping keys makes me happy. I have been creating for nearly 30 years but have not shared much of what I have created, learned, understood and for that matter not understood with anyone save for friends and family. This medium grants me a way to create anew and recreate my past artistic endeavors.

And it still does today!

I do wish I could link to my art shop from within posts every now and then here on WordPress… please?…

…and without fear of being banished!

I am sick.
I will get better.
I shoulda taken echinacea.
I coulda
but
I
didn’t.

NEW archival printer on my desk!

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I Quit My Job RANT

I quit my job last Saturday giving the store manager one week’s written notice as a courtesy per New Brunswick labor laws. My last day will be this coming Saturday.

I feel thwarted of success there. This will be my only vent, rant and annoying post regarding this decision. I am fully aware that my writing negatively only perpetuates any negativity surrounding my aura. We all need to let go of it somehow for without doing so will surely lead us down that lonely road of past coping skills and delusions.

There is no truth in staying somewhere when you are not happy. No happiness in trudging through the motions with no reward. And certainly no reward earning one dollar over minimum wage with 17 years arts related experience.

I feel the calm of solitude ebb around me and it feels soft and nice, not fearful and anxious. Surprisingly, this afterthought, well may it last beyond tomorrow.

When you work at a job there are things that make it feel worthwhile, worth getting up in the morning to go to work for. A happy customer is always nice, especially one that has been wowed by a molding you chose to frame their painting in. Another is knowing you do a good job and actually enjoy doing custom picture framing. Another is having great co-workers to work with. But none of these things mean anything when you are not rewarded financially for your efforts put forth and will only be given another 29¢ per hour at your year end review, if that.

I’ve been rewarded in many ways at my job. One being that I get to scrub public toilets every night that I am scheduled to work. And only custom picture framers get to scrub the john. We are a special lot of picture framers you see. Another is not being able to eat my lunch at lunch time because there are too many customers and only one custom picture framer. There is a difference between choosing to not eat lunch because you are not hungry and customers asking why your hands are shaking.

Do you know what it is like to be doing backbreaking labour unpacking box after dirty box from China stocking shelves upon endless shelves? …and then throwing the cardboard into a cardboard compactor that smells like rotting vomit.

This store will hire a person to mop and POLISH the floors but not the toilets and sinks. They tell you, you need to earn your hours to work in the frame shop but then they tell you to stop production at 8:00 and go and scrub the toilets until 9:00. How is scrubbing toilets earning valuable time custom picture framing time? Fuck.

They have the audacity to schedule you from 9:00 to 5:00. Great. That is fine. I have always believed in a full days work. Honestly. You get an unpaid half hour lunch and one paid five minute break when scheduled to work that shift. But then they schedule you from 9:00 to 5:30 and you get another break on top of the lunch and initial break. I always had a hard time with this one. It’s like schedule me the extra half hour you twit! A worker is much more productive when she can step away from her work every two to three hours.

I threw up twice at work last Thursday and continued to work. I had been going to work feeling sick to my stomach for weeks, months? I couldn’t keep up with what was expected of me. Each week a new task, a new paperwork assignment, a new toilet to be cleaned was being added to my task list of things to do. My wage was not being increased to meet these new demands even though I was required to do “it” all in the same amount of time.

You know, close to THIRTY or more employees have quit working where I work since mid-December. The store itself employs thirty people. I have been through six managers, four of which were the Store manager.

I asked for a raise three times only to be met with “Well, we would all be living a better life wouldn’t we if we all made a little more money.” Fuck. More than a raise I wanted a standard schedule. A reliable schedule where I knew the days and hours I was expected to be at work. I can be scheduled to work anytime between 9AM to 9PM, seven days per week. All I wanted was a set three or four days that I was scheduled to work. I didn’t even care if it was night shift or day shift. Just the same god damn shifts week in week out so I could plan my life accordingly.

I am good at what I do. I proved it. I won the framing contest. I sold close to $200 an hour during the contest week. When you finally realize that regardless of how hard you work, good you are at what you do and how happy your customers are at the end of the day you still need to pay your bills.

And I’m worth more than minimum wage.

When I was hired I was not told I would be cleaning toilets nor was I told I would be cleaning the staffroom, stocking shelves or throwing away ungodly amounts of recyclable material. Janitors earn more than minimum wage where I live. I have a skilled trade. Sadly 10 years ago when I emplyed at this same trade I earned only $1.25 less than what I am earning where I work now. I don’t understand it and I’m done beating my head against a brick wall trying to make sense of corporate garbage.

My last day to work is this coming Saturday. Tomorrow I will write about the positive. Yes, my friends there is a positive to working where I have worked and it will be written and saved in pixels for generations to read!

Muahahahahahahaha

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Napping and dreaming about bubbled artwork and ANGRY vintage kitchen tables

I am waking from a nap.

Moon

Work. Well, work is work. I’ve filed last Friday in a place that won’t be disturbed ever. I find myself holding out for the new manager to arrive. Hopefully when she arrives things will begin to turn around. Until that day comes, because I do not have other steady employment I will stay put, keep to myself and watch as co-workers quit, become frustrated and more unhappy. I work every day this week. My next day off is Sunday. There is not much I can do at work but work. I’ve resolved myself to do just that and since doing so my mind is quiet. There are things taking place that are way beyond my control. So be it.

November felt akin to mental concentration camp on my part. I went 40-50 days without a day off between Custom Framing, Design Contract work, Opening my online Art shop and writing for this Blog.

I managed to save enough money to ship the remainder of my things from Vancouver to Saint John. And the balance owing on my student loans is lowering month to month as I vigilantly place half of my income on the outstanding balance. Another few (plus) years to go.

Wednesday of last week I spoke to my ex-boyfriend who just happened to give my vintage kitchen table away, that I had painstakingly refinished bringing it back to it’s original luster, to his brother. Fuck you! Sad thing is if you get to angry at this man he withdraws and DOES NOTHING. When he does do something it’s pretty big and has a lasting effect on your pschy. I calmly told him to retrieve my kitchen table from his brother (who in no way shape or form gives two shits about me) repack and ship it to me immediately. He knew I NEVER planned on leaving it there and more than that would never give it to his brother.

Thus far only one oversized box has been shipped to me. That box contains four oversized original paintings and a hoola hoop which just happened to get wet because *dumbass didn’t place a tarp over the box in the rainiest city of Canada while transporting them to the shipping company from my friend’s house. Then he left while the company was on the phone with me. He just left. The company tells me on the phone that the box is wet. They ask me what is inside the box. I answer ARTWORK! They ask for my permission to open the box and offer to repack the 5 by 6 foot by 12 inch box at an extra cost mind you, to inspect the artwork for damage. So $332.00 later my box will arrive this Thursday.

Two of the four paintings were bubbling. I am four thousand miles away. It is all I can do to remain calm over the phone with the shipping company as he details the damage. The shipping company offered to crank the heat over night before repacking and shipping them the following morning.

When my friend Tomoko had gone out to her garage last Tuesday to inspect the boxes early last week she noticed one of them had disappeared and that all it’s contents including my CD’s, expensive software for my computer, handwoven blankets and a very cool IKEA step stool were on the garage floor. The vintage kitchen table was no where to be seen. She was flabbergasted.

I’m a tad pissed. Tomoko is pissed.

How is to possible to still be in love with someone that makes you so furious!

*That is my theory. Tomoko’s garage is dry. The shipping guy told me it was raining all day.

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The Happy Custom Framer Rant

I wrote Earning about a dollar more than minimum wage per hour when the Canadian dollar is worth a quizillion dollars on world markets today in my last post. And yes in is hard because it is the only negative aspect to the job I do four to five days per week.

I work as a custom picture framer at an art and craft supply store. I love my job. I frame original art, photographs, memorabilia, prints and certificates. I cut glass, matting and get to use air tools! Custom framing is an old trade of mine that I learned shortly after graduating from high school in 1991. I apprenticed as a picture framer for a local photographer for a few months to help with the Christmas rush. Later after graduating college in 1996 I began working as a custom picture framer for a local artist framing his prints and the odd job that came through the door. I work their for 14 months full-time.

Both of those times I earned about a dollar more than minimum wage. The thing is this, minimum wage has NOT risen a dollar in the last ten years. Ten years ago in 1997 minimum wage was at or around $6.30. Today minimum wage is $7.30 in New Brunswick. Go figure? Ten years… 10¢ a year it increased. Sad but very very true.

As for where I presently work, it is an OK job as far as jobs go. I work with 90% women which is awesome. I get to avoid the general public as the frame shop is it’s own entity. I work with the public but only those who want custom framing or those who believe we are the customer service department even though the whole back wall is covered with a thousand frame molding examples.

I get a good discount on art supplies. Yay! Enough said.

The biggest reason I chose to make a switch from graphic design to picture framing is simple; I burnt out BIG TIME from stress, relentless deadlines and working 50-70 hour weeks, week in – week out. This all lead to addiction. That lead to recovery and this Blog.

About two years ago I decided to continue freelancing, accepting the odd contract job here and there. That has been good and not so good as I completely flipped out earlier this year doing a small job for Scott. Maybe it was all the other insanities going on around me and needless to say Scott and I came to an agreement and all is good between us.

Thinking back to when I began college I chose Applied Arts over Fine Arts. I didn’t think I could make any money as an fine artist. As an applied artist I thought I could, because p.e.o.p.l.e, ADVERTISING will never disappear! Today I wish ADVERTISING would die. I wish I could stomp on it until all it’s edged frayed and every coat of varnish and 4 color press ink faded into smithereens. Your head can get damaged by all this when you are working against your heart year after year after year. I don’t care how good I was at it and at one time I was very good. I was best when sipping GHB hourly, sadly, gladly…

I don’t remember a time when graphic design didn’t make me want to puke. God. These words I’m writing feel cleansing yet they read harsh and unforgiving. I don’t want to forgive the Advertising industry. Thanks to you, I can analyze an ad, know why it works or doesn’t work, who the target market is and how to fix it if it needs fixing.

My ex listened to me every time the TV was on and a commercial aired. This design lingo would spit out of my mouth about what font they were using, colour scheme jargon, spit blargh… I couldn’t read the newspaper anymore. I could spot misaligned paragraphs, kerning and leading errors, copy mistakes and spelling errors. How could I be so good at something and have it make me sick to my stomach and worse be so scared to apply for a big professional job in that industry.

I’ve uploaded a measly amount of design work to this blog as I still retain some anger not at anyone in particular. Think Adbusters and what they stand for. I like them.

Money should never be a driving force in anything you do. It will freaking kill you. And when you are an artist trying to be a designer placed in the wrong communication firm can lead to your death or timely demise in that industry.

There are many Design jobs that come up here in New Brunswick and I’m qualified to do most of them and most of them would pay two to three maybe four times more than what I earn as a custom picture framer. I’m just not there anymore. For one thing I can’t sit still for EIGHT hours a day. I need to move. Out West I applied for one particular job. I got an interview. During the interview she said she received 400 applications. I ask her how many people she has interviewed. She says she’s interviewed 10. I happened to be one of those ten. I get called back for the second interview and then the third only to be told she hired the woman who had a kid. Not having kids as a young woman is another rant for another time.

I have to laugh right now. Hahahahahahahahaha Such is life eh?

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Do you have herpes?

I do. Herpes Simplex 1 to be exact. The kind that form on one’s lips. The lips on your face, not the genital ones.

I was blessed at an early age to catch the herpes virus. Sure enough every school year during class photographs a monstrous sore appeared just off center to the right on my bottom lip. Over the years it appeared namely in the same spot for 7 to 10 days.

During stressful times I could be found sporting two cold sores; one of which located itself conveniently in the corner of my mouth and the other off-center on the bottom lip. Smiling or laughing became impossible without blood letting from either sore.

Crack. Drip. Blood.

Self portrait

Since moving back to Saint John, I have had a grand total of 20-25 odd cold sores arriving in all shapes, sizes, visiting for one, two and even three weeks! This is annoying. Last week I looked in the mirror after showering and smiled upon seeing the most recent virus attacks had healed leaving no visible scars. Later that evening I felt that all familiar tingle. I grimaced. I’ve had enough already. GO AWAY! I currently count four cold sores today, all dry and itchy. Over the years I’ve used prescription drugs, peroxide, ozanol, corticosteroid creme, blistex and now burt’s bees with no real speed up on the duration of their pesky visitation.

7-10 days.

loonie

There was one time four years ago when I erupted in sores this badly. It was upon arriving in Vancouver. I had a humongous loonie sized sore located left on my bottom lip. I painted the painting accompanying this post during that time. Six months it took for them to heal completely. Since then I’ve had minor outbreaks no different than during my school years until the beginning of this June 2007.

I am practicing super duper self cleaning regiments as my fingers and hands are broken out in eczema to prevent self-reinfection.

So, I write this post
saying good bye to Herpes
in hopes that letting out
my anger
will.banish.them.into.oblivion!

Self discipline in a modern world rant

Find yourself asking why? Asking how come?
Just like TV, the Blogosphere has channels.
So many so that you can not count them.

When one is an actual blogger who posts to their own or on a multi-contributor blog telling the difference between law, Blogosphere law, all existing international laws, right and wrong, illegal or not supposed to do that and what about spam? Then their are splogs. There are celebrities and blogebrity’s. Mash-ups and rhapsodies. Link Fests and farms, scrapers and navigators, linkers and talkers, readers and commentators.

OMG and WTF Technorati 2000 bloggers.

I am telling you all to SHUT-UP already today.

end.

Angry Banking Brain Blog Snowball! Poof!

I seem to go through periods of time that involve me, asking more questions than I can answer. Before finishing or beginning to answer a question, one needs to be able to calm down to look at the possible answers. It is a strange but illuminating experience to actually jump to the other side. All one can do is laugh or get angry. I think that’s why I like Mr. Angry. His humour, yes I say humour because it is. He doesn’t pretty it up except with a visual facial costume.

Mr. Angry News.When I first watched Mr. Angry’s videos I couldn’t actually get thru them. OMG how aw-ful; not the videos, but me. Really this just made me mad, because I couldn’t watch nor listen to anger. This emotion eludes me more than any other. Anger tends to be seen as abnormal or psychotic in society; generally speaking. Anger can be those things, but it can resemble other emotions such as humour, love or boredom. We need to recognize our anger as much as our happiness or we risk the full tide of emotion, we as humans are privelidge to experience.

When the questions start, they gently start accumulating in grandeur; not unlike a snowball one is rolling in the snow. This white ball can be too much to continue rolling; for size and/or weight may overcome physical strength or one could let it fly down a mountain side. Either way this big ball of human creation will meet it’s final destination. It’s going to melt regardless of whether it be at the bottom or atop the hill. Melt I say! I go through question period nearly everyday. I actively need to alleviate, release or calm these questions. In the past as it is present I more than likely create with these questions in search of an answer, except when I’m feeling anger.

These past few weeks whether by fate or sub-concious choice I am flip-flopping about. It got worse when I went for four days with no paxil. But the funny thing is this, after the initial shock withdrawal wore off, my head cleared as my drive returned. I could answer questions creatively with ease. I got a burst of emotion that had felt locked up for over two years now. On the fifth day I took the three pretty pink pills. Ahhh I don’t know about this. But I kind of feel like paxil has quieted my right brain too much. I have tonnes of drive and ideas, albeit the spark to continue, to see them through wains more often than not lately. I want to. I would like to. Tomorrow. These tomorrow’s are becoming repetative. I want to own MY brain again. The continuous dialogue is old now.

This anger within needs reckoning. Silent rage was my answer to anger for many years. You know the silent female who secretly freaks out when no one is looking.

I woke up late today. I had to go to the bank today. Both Eric and I are resentful of having chosen this bank. Some things are good and then there are the rotten apples. Fuck, even now I am angered, I want to withdraw and go lay down or cry but best of all, become numb. Dealing doesn’t seem to be an option in my brain. I want the anger to go away. To die. Poof! There will be no more problems of not being able to deposit cheques, work cheques, and recieve the money immediately without the ole “We’ll have to hold this for seven days crap”. We became quite inventive to get the money, we rightfully deserve and earned. I began depositing everything into my account through the bank machine. Ha! Biggest issue with this bank is this; they refuse to cash Eric’s pay-checques. Rarely a tickled teller, teases and stamps the paycheque just so. Eric has been working for the same company for TWO years now. It is high time this institution accept that fact also. He wouldn’t continue working for this company if the cheques were falsified. Thank you fearmongering hats-full-of-money-big-mouthed money-mongerers for making the post 9/11 everyday world a little harder to cope with.

You can call this creative process, inspiration. Many do. Most artists get off on this stuff, at least some of my friends do. I can only look on and wonder why my process is a melting pod rather than a launch pad. Once I’m launched I’m ok. It is that pod-pad transition aloofness causing delay. The liquid starter I was hooked on once, eliminated or reduced greatly this transition disorder. It was recreational. It turned the ignition. There was say, seven of so wonderful months of pure genious. I miss my GHB. Fuck that is hard to write. If there is anything I hate hate more, the struggle taking place in my brain between right and wrong, good or bad and so on and so forth. Does everyone have this battle going on? To some extent I’m assuming yes. I also believe none of us react the same way to a dilemma or arrive at an answer in the same way. It’s really hard to know you found an answer that worked very well for some time and KNOW you can’t risk answering the question that way anymore. I don’t miss addiction. I am a female addict. That is hard to write as well. What is harder even still, is that this post will be read.
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