Sunday, July 19, 2015
I'm going to start this off by stating that generally, even if something is wrong with the bathroom on the floor where I work, it's easy enough to go one floor up or down and find an open set of stalls.
This one time, however...
Break is not long enough for the adventure I went on for my quest to pee.
It started innocently enough, looking with grim expression at the "Shit's Closed" sign on my floor, shrugging, and moving on.
I tried the second floor.
I tried the fifth floor.
I just wanted to pee.
My legs were getting tired from using the stairs, but work certainly has elevators.
No problem, right?
Well, I had STARTED by going from one sure-fire floor to another, which meant skipping a bunch.
By that point, I'd narrowed it down to just having to move one floor up or down.
The thing about going down or up only one floor when there are other people in the elevator to notice is that I will ALWAYS assume I'm being judged as an asshole.
This is because I do this to other people, unless I can make up a good reason for them.
Because I'm a bad person.
So, I felt pretty judged as I did this myself…
I swear to you, every bathroom on every floor was either being cleaned at that moment or just flat out broken somehow.
BUT THEN I found one!
I tried at least three more floors until I came to one that wasn't closed, so I was super excited and relieved (in more ways than one).
Imagine my surprise then when I hear a man yelling outside.
…followed by the thundering herd of ladies rushing out of the bathroom…
And then darkness.
Guy didn't flick off and immediately turn the lights back on again to be like, "Hey, we gotta work on the bathroom…"
He just shut them off until I got out of the stall.
Then he turned them back on.
You know what? I'm going to take a moment to talk to you about my feelings when it comes to the dark and bathrooms.
And mirrors in dark bathrooms.
So, I don't know if you know this…
…but I'm a big chicken.
Bok bok bok.
A good show of this was back in the innocent days of Spice Girls and Pogs...
...my friends wanted to play the more traditional game of trying to summon a dead woman from a mirror.
But, like, why?
I've never understood this.
If I could be summoned via mirror, I'd probably be pretty pissed (heh) to keep showing up in bathrooms due to little girls.
And when it all started going down, I opted out.
But I opted out in the most dramatic of ways.
Everyone else is giggling, and I'm running out of there like a lunatic going, "Just you wait. Years in the future, she'll get you. But me? Naw, Man. We have a respect."
Part of this is that my stress level was pretty high (WAS? Hahahahahaha My heart would probably just stop entirely if I chilled out for two fucking minutes at this point) and so I'd stress myself into seeing things.
This included (and kind of still includes) seeing screwed up shit in reflections.
Especially in the dark.
I had gotten it into my head that all mirrors work like two-way mirrors, in that when the lights are out, you can see them back.
Otherwise, "they" are probably just seeing you.
That was my logic and-
UGH CRUD, you know, I'm trying to write this at night and I'm just creeping myself out I'M AN ADULT WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME
I used to run from the bathroom after flushing, because I knew when the sound of the flush was done, that was the DING of the timer and the mirror things would come out and eat my feet.
So, I had to jump onto the bed to avoid them coming after me.
…and my feet.
They were somehow the same as the under-the-bed monsters.
Closet monsters and I were cool though.
Look, I don't claim to understand the infrastructure of monsterdom, okay?
Actually, I should probably look into what the difference was.
I don't mean like, find an old tome to explain how monster society works, but sitting down and looking at my own logic.
For example, ants creep me the Hell out.
They're like the Borg and quietly invade personal space, so I hate them.
I'm going to have to get over this one if I ever want to garden EVER.
I think it's the fact that they're eyeless, limbless creatures that will eat my corpse if given the chance.
But then Silverfish are ACTUALLY creepy looking, right?
But I looked them up and learned that they're the nerds of the bug world, kind of bullied by everybody else...
Which makes them okay in my book.
SO back to modern day work:
I get chased out of the stall pretty much mid-poop by this guy, and then he has the gall to just stand there in the small doorway.
Like, Dude, if you want me to leave…
Saturday, April 11, 2015
I grew up around a lot of animals, though most of them either scared me on some level, were technically my sister's pets, or both.
Still, I had access to A LOT of living creatures, so I'm not really sure why I opted for the invisible dog…
But I did.
When I say that I had an invisible dog, I don't mean that I just had a super tiny animal, or that it was completely imaginary.
I had gotten a leash from a joke store that was effectively a metal rod made up to look like there was an invisible dog on the end with the collar.
This was great because it allowed me to walk around outside like a normal child, but without being dragged along by a dog that was significantly stronger than I was.
Any other time I chose to walk outside, it was Summer, and I was very much against the wearing of shoes.
I'm not even sure what I named this particular thing, but it was probably Bob or Sara.
I say this because I'm fairly certain it was during that time in my life where I named everything Bob or Sara.
I'm even marrying a Bob.
What the Hell?
I also seem to remember this actually being my second invisible dog.
I'm not sure what happened to the first one…
Maybe it had a similar fate?
In which case, where the Hell were my parents???
Either way, what happened next hurt me in a way that made me question my sanity, even as a little kid.
I remember having no choice but to imagine gushing blood.
My invisible dog got hit by a car.
And I responded like an actual pet had been injured.
I feel like this particular incident is not a common thing for other were-once-children.
I did my best to bend it back to the normal, healthy-invisible state, but it was no use.
In retrospect, I probably just didn't have the right tools for the job, and it probably didn't occur to me to ask MY PARENTS for assistance.
Anyway, that's the story.
I'm sure there's more to it, but I can't imagine any other riveting tales of my invisible dog would be entertaining.
I also realize that I titled this post "How My Invisible Dog Got Run Over" but I truly have no memory of the HOW.
I know it happened.
I remember being very upset after previously being very happy with my "pet"…
I leave you with the knowledge that I drew most of these illustrations while in the bathroom at work during break.
Just letting you know.
…Full disclosure and all that.
Saturday, March 28, 2015
Team Manticore attended the Central PA Comic Con two weeks ago, and then we went to another convention this past weekend.
The first went really well. We made connections, sold some stuff...
The second one was just a series of mini-terrors wrapped in terrible luck.
There was blood.
So, let me start by going back to that first con.
Like I said, we were pretty successful, and we even sold the last of the Shuffle comics!
This was super exciting to me, because I had the chance to sign some stuff and feel like... I drew that thing that I drew.
There were a lot of awesome costumes, and it was great to see such diversity.
Also, like eighty Black Widows.
That is NOT a complaint.
I made some cats while we were sitting there, because they were selling faster than I thought they would.
...Some came out a little wrong.
So, now we know what it looks like when a large head is put on a small body...
Like a UFO cat.
In any case, people were pretty happy about the up-cycled comics and "dead records", because we're making things that are otherwise going to be thrown out into something new.
Here's another shot of the tiny kitties:
We also sold a surprising number of teeth, and got some neat suggestions for Walking Dead inspired jewelry.
Good times. Good times.
The head-crab, sadly, did not find a new home that day.
Go home, Head-Crab. You're drunk.
The second con...
You know what?
Before even setting foot instead the building, I set knee inside of asphalt.
See, it was the second day of Spring, so I slipped on some ice, because New York.
It hurt like a bitch, but once I could stand at all, I realized that nothing was broken.
That was enough for me.
And honestly, I was more concerned about my hand than anything else.
So, I'm limping along...
Kinda walking bow-legged...
And I feel this cold trickling down my leg.
I figure, "It can't be blood. That would be warm."
The other problem was that I was wearing these pants:
(Post fall, hence the hole and caked-on dirt)
So I couldn't actually tell the real blood from the fake blood, because why would there be real blood when all I did was fall down wHAT??? SHUT UP I'M FINE.
At this point, I became a giant baby.
Rob ran around for first-aid stuff...
Thankfully, a week later, THIS works just fine:
I was FAR more concerned with cleaning off the extra blood, than actually tending to the wound itself.
It was pretty bad. Approximately this:
A week later, it looks more like this:
The fact is that while kids will skin their knees, that's really just a scrape.
I actually, literally, SKINNED my fucking knee. SKINNED IT.
TOOK THE SKIN OFF OF A CHUNK OF MYSELF LIKE MY KNEE WAS SOMETHING OUT OF HELLRAISER.
...and it hurt.
...and Rob got really frustrated by the fact that I was semi-in shock and just would not stop talking about my knee.
Putting up with each other is half of love.
Going to work, I refused to bring my cane.
I have one.
My father gave it to me.
It has served me well.
I don't know why I decided that I didn't need it... Cause... I did.
We didn't really sell anything, due to the timing of the con.
We got REALLY bored.
I made a bunny out of stuffing.
Dusty the dust bunny.
Here is Rob's creation photobombing.
We are classy folks.
I got to have another injury before we left!
See, the needle broke.
BROKE in half.