Tod's cat Vincent, stealing my pencils!

Today I’m participating in a 24-hour* art creation marathon to raise funds for my friend Tod’s roommate Milo, who is getting a service dog. I’ve infested their apartment with my art supplies and my unshowered, unteethbrushed, unruly self. I’ve rubbed their cats in my armpits and tamed their leopard geckos with chairs. And when Tod was in the bathroom, I sat on his chair and farted because THAT’S HOW I ROLL.

This post will be updated with art as the day progresses but you should check out the stream for live art (and chatting!) here. Tod has a page with the guidelines for requests/donations here. You can find the Chip In account here.

* -ish

Click for more drawings!

(I adjusted this digitally to try and reflect its brightness, but it ruined the gradient a bit.)

We went looking for the great horned owl that lives at the marina. Every time I bring my camera, it’s conspicuously absent, but when I’m unprepared and have only a cell phone, then the stupid featherbucket hangs around all photogenically on the yardarms of sail boats.

The above photo was taken a couple months ago, with my phone. That black dot near the tallest mast is an owl. Just trust me. Anyway, it wasn’t there this time, but there was something else that flies resting on one of the boats…

…Seriously, does your yacht really need a helicopter? I mean, you might think you’re not a redneck just because you own a yacht, but I have news for you: stacking recreational equipment is the redneckiest thing you can do short of putting on your least stained Caterpillar t-shirt and packing your lip with a wad of chew before taking your fourteen-year-old cousin on a date.

I’m classy, so if I had a yacht it would have a jacuzzi and a ball pit and a chocolate fountain with a gayly attired attendant, like this:

But mine won’t have a pantsless black market arms dealer. Speaking of no pants, many of the people at the marina were prancing about in floofy dresses, because apparently Saturday night was prom. One girl had a very distinctive birthday cake of a dress which I admired as she petted Briar, and later we discovered a shred of it had fallen on the walkway, so I tied it onto Hanzo. Here he poses majestically with his new cravat:

Because he’s in way more photos, it probably looks like Hanzo is the favorite. I promise I also love Briar, but she is more wiggly, so most photos of her are blurry. But here’s one from the other day, after the Great Crab Rescue of May 2012:

Thanks to Dan Macken for showing me this. I like small dogs and I don’t want anyone to think I’m disparaging them, but in this instance? I bet that officer and his mother are very glad they chose a pit bull instead of a pomeranian.

Edit: If the video doesn’t work, you can read it at MSNBC.

These are old, from my trip to Sweden in 2004, but I’m thinking of doing some new ones. I really like to draw guinea pigs that are not quite guinea pigs.

Oh, also courtesy of 2004: have a dog with an egg in its mouth.

I used to pet bumblebees when I was younger, just with the tip of my index finger. This one was too small and fidgety for that, but it sure looks soft.

I have lots of paper nonsense floating around. I tend to shove it all into a box until I can file it, but this has resulted in several overflowing boxes of mismatched art + correspondence + miscellany. I’m embarrassed at some of the time-sensitive information I uncovered during my excavations. I’m going to make me walk ten steps behind myself in public so no one knows we’re together.

Find the not-so-hidden cat! His name is Captain Henry Every of the Fancy.

I found both checks, and the commission, and tons of old art which I will now periodically post here and pretend it is content. (I did that yesterday with the creepy hands animals.)

You know what would look even better than rings on its fingers? A LIGHT SOURCE.

One more!

You remember the BB gun with a crab inside? We found more crabs in danger on Tuesday! The tide was out further than we’ve ever seen, and right at the waterline, there was a tangle of fishing line next to a snag. The tide was just starting to come in, so I had to wade out barefoot, but I figured it might be worth it. I found a big ol’ red rock dungeness crab,** and judging by how tangled up he was, he’d been there for quite awhile. He’d already lost a leg, and one of his mouth-parts was tied up. Seamus called from the dry parts of the shore to ask if I needed his knife, and at first I said no. After all, I could pick those loops off of his legs…

…but then I saw the snarl under his belly. And then I saw ANOTHER crab, and grabbed that one, too. Sorry for the bad cropping–as you can see, my hands were full, and Seamus was a little too distressed to properly frame the picture. After all, the tide was rolling in fast, and we had a lot of work ahead of us before the water became too deep to help the crabs.

I know they’re just huge bugs, but there shouldn’t be a bunch of garbage for them to get tangled in to begin with. Our species is totally the worst thing to happen to the planet since giant meteors punching a Gulf into the western hemisphere. If I get the chance, I like to clean up after us.

The second crab was easy to free, but the first crab was going to take a few minutes, so I held the whole tangle while Seamus sawed it free, even as the water reached for our rolled up pant legs. It was a race against time! We were like the MacGuyvers of tideflats!

We scooted back to shore, past a bewildered Briar, who couldn’t figure out why we wanted to play with a tangle of crappy trash and the ugliest kitty* she’d ever seen when she had this marvelous stick that could be thrown. Creepy Briar fact: That is the same stick she had the last time we were at this beach. She managed to find it again because she is obsessive-compulsive.

Now that we were safe from the encroaching tide, we had time to puzzle at and slice away the knots on the crab.

Mr. Crab was quite docile, and I’m practiced at handling them, so no one actually got pinched, but Seamus did scrape his hand on barnacles while he was trying to cut the mess free. He has been crowing ever since about how he got wounded during a rescue mission.

Hanzo met the crab briefly, after it was already playing dead. (His nose is safe! At least, probably. In my experience, crabs rarely wake up for pinchicuffs after they’ve already entered playing dead mode.) Briar didn’t even notice it was alive, or if she did, she still preferred her stick.

Mr. Crab apparently disapproved of us enough that even after we put him back in the water, he stuck around for a few minutes to glare before he finally scuttled off into the sunset.

* We say “no kitty” about any small animal my dogs are not allowed to chase–including but not limited to cats, squirrels, birds, and leprechauns.

** ETA: Keffy caught that. I thought I remembered black tips on their claws, which is how I inexpertly tell the difference, but I glanced at the photos and they are totally yellow. My bad!

In between classes, though, I’m in specialty sales again. This time, instead of education about human sexuality and all the various ways it can be experienced and enhanced, I’m now jumping into the mysterious, fast-paced, controversial world of art supplies. It’s definitely a change, but I cannot possibly describe how much I love it.  I get to talk to people all day about making art. It’s still customer service, so I get to make people’s day go more smoothly (or more roughly, if they’re looking to texture their painting ). One of my favorite parts is how many new things there are to learn–even after I’m competent at answering the most common questions, there are still countless intermediate and advanced questions I can learn. My goal is for other staff to come ask me questions about some topics the way they ask our boss, who knows everything.

But speaking of the staff… my very favoritest part? I get to work with people whose company I really enjoyed as a customer, and am now thoroughly enjoying as a co-worker. This was waiting for me when I officially became a member of the team:

I AM IN A FAIRY TALE! Every time I insist I’m Puss in Boots you people just think I’m being a furry, but I’m pretty sure I’m some sort of archetype manifest, or maybe even just a run-of-the-mill Mary Sue. OH NO CHECK FOR ME DO I HAVE PURPLE EYES?! Whew, they’re still greyish blue. Wait, I work in art supplies now! They’re “slate blue”or perhaps “PMS 291.”

I hate that song with an indescribable fury, but I forgot to mute it while I was watching the video because I was busy giggling