Tour Around Haus Manna

In trying to run down my camera's battery so I could fully charge it for a day of shooting,
I photographed things around my house that I thought were neat:

Morrigan: the lazy-ass tortie.

My cherished Nosferatu necklace, the figure embedded in smoky resin. 

Black Velvet Jesus in the Garden. Painted by mom, frame made by dad. Paint-by-numbers.
I grew up with this painting always around. Love the visual & tactile aspects. I can pet Jesus!
I kinda hope it becomes legend, and my mom gets a cult following of vintage velvet painting snobs.

Miniature replica of Tutankhamen's sarcophagus. There's actually a tiny, gauze-wrapped mummy inside!

Rooster ewer. Really not much more to say.

Artist's dummy belonging to Other Manna. I mean to sew a model dress over it. Someday.

This image basically sums up the existence of Spaz; he's just a huge butthole.

Lights stapled to our porch. Hey, this is so whimsicle, I could sell it on Etsy now.

Spooky tornado dome belonging to the Other Manna. Tiny paper bats swirl all about!

A sprout photo from this spring. Back when I was enamored with bringing life from the ground. Now, eff that shit.

Not shown: dirty dishes in the sink, floors gritty with cat litter, and thread-balls from my workspace. I'll cover that in the next post (said no Manna, ever).

Snacks Are Weird.

I have been wondering about snacks for a while. I was probably drunk at the time, but I suddenly realized that people mix food flavors in the most unnatural, horrifying, delicious ways. Completely blew my whiskey-soaked little mind.

First example: Peanut butter & cheese cracker sandwiches =/= cheddar with a peanut butter schmear.

It's very difficult to make peanut butter NOT look like poo.

If you haven't eaten these, you've at least seen them in numerous vending machines, glowing sickly orange in the night-florescence of highway motels, summer camp, and college campuses. Four little, dry squares of cheese-flavored crackers & peanut butter. The salty-sweet, crumbly-gooey magical combination guarantees the snack's continued distribution to rest stops and kindergarteners around the country. Take the basic flavors, though; peanut butter and....cheese? How much rum was drunk to make that sound like a good idea?

...I still love those cracker sammiches, though.

Tell me, my cherished readers: What strange food combination do you snack on? Do you have a gustatory guilty pleasure do you harbor?

Neighbor is Building an Ark--Is That Bad?

It has been raining in Minneapolis for almost 3 weeks and it feels like it's been gray and wet FOREVAR. The saving grace of all this angel-snot is that everything is starting to turn green. The muddy yards are green, the treetops are green, my herb garden is green...

Wait, no, my herb garden is brown and soggy. Nothing has sprouted because there hasn't been any sunshine. I can't grow plants with thunder and lightning, Mother Nature!

I am this close to just pre-sprouted cheaters!

It's been cloudy and chilly, which saps my energy. I actually took a nap between this and the last paragraph. Even after drinking half a pot of french-press coffee, I just needed to be horizontal and unconscious. For 2 hours. ugh.

I just...I just need to lie...here...for a bit...

Motivation to work on sewing is scarce. I want to go sew, I think about sewing, I remind myself how happy I am when I do sew, I walk into the living room intending to sew...and then the couch swallows me up and I just end up binge-watching True Detective. Cozy things like knitting and naps and staying inside a blanket cocoon seem like such better ideas in place of working. I wish I could get paid to wrap myself in quilts and eat hummus and watch endless BBC America programming. But watching Ripper Street gives me ideas for costumes, and I start thinking about fabrics, and I feel the stirrings of creativity in my brain...

One more episode. Gotta finish this story arc.

Let's be honest. Blaming my procrastination on the weather is not gonna fly. I'm not getting paid to permanently imprint my butt into the couch cushions, I'm getting paid to make things. Which means putting on my big-girl pants, buttoning up my entrepreneur-shirt, and doing my hair in a getting-shit-done-twist. I have found the best way to help myself move on from crap feelings is to acknowledge them, feel them, and then say goodbye to them. Then jumping around a little to get my energy up seems to help, too. So here goes:

I know I feel sluggish because of the gray days.

I feel gloomy, I have moped, and indulged the Blerch** for long enough.

I am done with sluggish, mopey, gloom. I'm ready to be productive.

I'm going to go jump around now.

**The Blerch was created and is described here by The Oatmeal.