gra-tu-i-tous |grəˈt(y)oōitəs|
{ORIGIN mid 17th cent.: from Latin gratuitus ‘given freely,spontaneous’}
1. uncalled for; lacking good reason; unwarranted : gratuitous violence.2. given or done free of charge : gratuitous advice.
vi-o-let |ˈvī(ə)lət|{ORIGIN Middle English : from Old French violette} adjective:
1. a bluish-purple color seen at the end of the spectrum opposite red.
2. a herbaceous plant of temperate regions, typically having purple, blue,or white five-petaled flowers, one of which forms a landing pad for pollinating insects. Genus Viola, family Violaceae.
3. ME.

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

hot fun in the summertime

i bought some tasty smelling hawaiian tropic spf 4 fryolator oil last night... 
and i plan to use it this summer. 

but i will not be wearing anything like this when i do:
1970's bush built in? 
absolute Klass!

or this- for obvious reasons:
at least she's laughing too.

this gets the award for WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK?!?!?:
obviously, she had no mirror or any feeling in her puffy skin.
that and a shopping frienemy.

and if i were male, i would say PASS to this gem:

all jokes aside, i am looking forward to the sun, and swimming. 
i barely enjoyed them last summer. 
i need my vitamin D, and the exercise is my favorite!

stuff i love: the flip side of my turd-ish bitching

i love the twisted animated art of david firth. 

this video was also made by the genius behind salad fingers.
salad's not included in this video, sorry.

  two other great things i enjoy, separately:
interesting insects- and sex.

Cicindela sexguttata

i went hiking with g. on saturday. 
we saw mad mushrooms. 
we saw rabbit, deer and bobcat prints. 
we also saw these crazy insects- mating. 
this is not my photo, as i couldn't catch a shot of them, regardless of literally running after them, till i got sweaty, through the forest-
 chasing these gorgeous humpers. 
the above photo is of two mating 6 spotted tiger beetles, but we saw the even more rare puritanical tiger beetles. rather than rocking cream spots, they had rad black tiger stripes! completely badass!
they were soo f'n beautiful- and they are on the endangered list- i am honored to have seen them, nonetheless seeing them getting it on. 
their mating season is for 2 weeks, 2x a year. they live for up to two years.
 i thought they were just acting shy as they flew away while still connected- but after much research for the name and a photo, i found out that the male holds onto his partner so no other mates can get some action on his lady. 

atreyu mounts falcor like he's his bitch.

and in the midst of my whiney mope- i looked over at fletcher, the embodiment of buddha, and like she always does, she calmed me by example. 
cats don't stress about material needs, relationships, or emo shit. 
they sleep when they are tired, eat when they get hungry, come for a cuddle when they feel lonely, and never forget to breathe, deeply- and cats always remember to stretch alot.
free life lessons all over the joint. 
so did i get mad at her for laying a nascar-inspired skid on my freshly laundered bedding?
i took a deep breath and stretched a bit.

how's the old saying go?
"before i am enlightened, i will chop wood and cary water. after i am enlightened, i will chop wood and cary water."
i shall addend it:
"before i am enlightened, i will do laundry and watch hulu. after i am enlightened, i will do laundry and watch hulu."

thailand anyone?


Tuesday, May 24, 2011

i can totally believe it's not butter

my bra was trying now to impale me- much like vlad...

when removed, the mams' freedom released thoughts frometh my brain area.

now my frontal lobes are exploding vomiting into cyber space... 

may i offer a preemptive you're welcome:

it's thundering out.

isn't that one of the best sounds ever
a low rumbley thunder? 

next fact:
me and the boy both got wicked awesome news from our sexy-parts md.s this week:

i'm officially cancer-free!
and he's now shooting blanks!

jackpot indeed my lovelies.
 jackpot indeed.

why do i still get pimples 2x a month at my age?
it's proof that there is no god.

exhibit A

today was a studio day- and you know what that means... no?
let me ask you this then:
would it be wrong if i actually punch some bourgeois ignorant twat in the mug for saying some dumb shit to me about how she'd literally die if she didn't go to italy each year. 
fucking cunt. 
and when i reply that's too expensive for me, she says 
if she were me, she'd find a way
no violet, it's not that expensive at all.
fucking double-fisted-in-the-ass cunt.

reality check:
some of us can barely afford our cheap swill beer we need to drown out the fact that we're living in the shittiest of financial times. 
and we also need it  because most people we meet and encounter just plain ol' suck.
 why am i so fucking thick-headed to realize that i teach and monitor people who can easily afford $600+ art classes each semester... 

that's gravy to them.

marrow to me. 

that kind of extra spending cash is a thing of my past. 
hence having to move out of an amazing brownstone and in w/family because this fucking tightassed republicrat puritanical society we live in [those of us who are in the usa] does not fucking understand, not to mention- support artists 
avant garde thinkers.

okay- i know- i can move to some other place, but before you say that dumb ignorant shit, 
reread my beer statement.
fuck you, it's italy [disguised] all over again.

if one has never lived under a rock, 
how can they dole out catchall advice on how to move the rock?


not everyone has even been on a european [or any- for some] vacation people. 
open thy eyeballs.
some people can barely scrape by coins for caffeine- and that's important shit.

nomi knows

yeah, i can bitch and moan, and some more turds say how easy it is to bounce back, 
easy to find meaningful, satisfying, well paying work.
and to that i reply:

fuck you.

in the ear.

obviously those turds cannot hear... themselves [dick-in-ear?] bullshitting, 
or merely notice others' reality.

there are children starving in china.
isn't that what our parent's generation parents used to say to them at the diner table when they didn't eat.
well guess what?
china is here.
under our noses.
 sniff sniff.

and speaking of smell-
i thought i split my pants today, and when i bent and looked down at my crotch to see if it was true, 
i farted.
i straightened up and turned around and one of the richie ladies was standing directly behind me,
 waiting to ask me a question.
we ignored the fact that i had cropdusted us both. 
i'm naasty.
i thought i was alone in the room. 
wrong again.

i will leave you dear lovelies with a postcard from my edge:

i'd just die if i didn't go to bridgeport each year on vacation.

although i'm a new havener as of the last 18 years- i hail from b'po.
let's just say it's an edited chapter of my severely disenfranchised youth.

Monday, May 16, 2011

the illustrious gift of unsolicited opinions

while i type this, i am simultaneously streaming a netflix video, watching a comic [page hurwitz- she's 4/5th funny, but worth watching] on a logo comedy series called wisecrack- it's a selection of gay men and lesbians doing stand-up.
let me preface this with an info tidbit: i am openly bi.
as in sexual.
not the liberal arts-school bi- who kisses a girl occasionally for one semester.
not the trying-to-make-men-horny bi- "like, watch me kiss your fantasy girl, bubba."
not the attention seeker bi- who merely claims the title and is grossed out by the do-ing.
bi. as in i have had almost as many serious love interests of both genders. and i am a serial monogamist. as in not a slut. not that i care if you're a slut, it's just not my cup 'o' tea. 
with the exception of some fun safe trusting friend-y relationships, i prefer to actually love you if i fuck you. 
call me old fashioned- and disease free. 
people need to identify others using titles and labels so they can see if they share in common interests, or are simply forced to hate and judge others.
isn't what that labeling people and shit is for?
if not, it sure is how that shit ends up working out.
so, that said, i claim to openly be open to love, and the intimacy which results- or the other way around... depending on the scenario. but since you are most-likely an adult, you get the gist. 

quasi-recently, i was in an 11 year relationship with a woman, and the subsequent fallout after the split was devastating. this happened @ 2 years ago, yet the volcanic relationship ash still seeps into my life every now and again, forcing me to revisit shit i'd rather not, and clean proverbial house. again. 
like the fact that i have been shunned by a group of gays and lesbians who i called family, who now completely ignore me and treat me like a leper. 
fucking cunts. 
thanks for being there falsely and with condition for decades, and now - nothing. 
ironic shit.
another fun tidbit is that i am with a man now, who i fell for at the very end of my relationship with my 11 year stint. ours has been a rocky road, but not without merit, and i am interested in seeing what we learn from each other and what we teach. no relationship is without flaws. more on that at a later date.

when i see people- acquaintances, or "friends" who don't know about the big ugly split, 99% of the reactions are as if i broke up with them: shock, hurt, scorn... then the vomitorium of questions and commentary erupts. 
it always starts with: but i thought you were a lesbian! what happened? 
like a break-up is just a casual or simple story to relay- like how a car accident or some other random crap happened. huh? 
"you never asked, but you did assume." i often reply. 
or, if i meet a woman who was a hardcore card-carrying lez for eons, and now she rocks dick, she says- inevitably "oh- you were never a lesbian either?!" to her i must say: "dyke- you're lying to yourself, and- you never asked, you assumed. now go eat some beav." 

where the fuck do ignoramuses get off?
i never claimed to be them.
i never lied.
i am me.

my femi-nazi restaurant bosses of 4 years used to proudly insist that bisexuality does not exist
what, like god, or evolution- according to the imbecile extremists?!?! 
i, and a friend/co-worker, used to get into heated debates with these feminist lesbian elders.  
2 out of of 3 of the boss ladies used to be married, and both are moms.
yes, i understand that they lived and married in a time when being girl-on-girl was a smidge taboo, but it was fucking done, and for long before the feminist wave of the 1970's, so- suck one, bitches
and they had kids. 
as in more than one
so- apparently dick was okay at least a couple times. 
but bad for any other woman.
literal screaming matches ensued between us until i quit working there. 
many of the other female employees claimed to be strictly-clitly, but very few remain so. these are often the same women who were so cruel to me when i claimed my bi-ness. 
also they are the same women married with babies now.
hypocrite cunts.
and i remain single, child-free, and open to love whomever i choose to love- no boundaries. 
lucky me.

this is not the only recent change in my life which deems others to act like assholes toward me. 
how could it be, when so many people suck shit?

up until november 2010, since i was @ 11, i dyed my hair super fun colors. most often i used manic panic dyes. my hair had seen never a dull moment. i have rocked every color under the rainbow, and too many styles to list- from tame to outrageous.
but last autumn i needed a change. i could start seeing grays in my roots, and my curls weren't springing back like they used to. [bleaching your hair removes elastin- which is needed for curly hair to remain springy.] 
curiously, i wanted to know what i was working with, and was tired of having my hair slump. the upkeep is laborious and expensive each month, too. 
i was also going through a rough patch in my living situation. 
i needed a change. 
so- i shaved my head. 
well, first i cut off my long-ass braids, then i shaved it all off. i buzzed it with a 3 guard. it was a half inch long. luckily, i have a nicely shaped dome.
come to find out, i have less gray than i thought, and felt so liberated to break free and release the 4 or 5 years of life/hair growth, that i decided to just leave it. let it grow. grays and all. and finally allow my curls to sprout free.
now it's 0.0% upkeep. i don't even comb it; not until it reaches my shoulders at least. and i have another year's wait for that.
and, like my girl-to-boy relationship change, this one has received a myriad of unsolicited responses.

people reveal themselves by the questions they choose to ask, or by the remarks they make.

very few comments were positive. 
some are genuinely inquisitive. 
most are underhanded and rude.

these are fucking verbatum:
"i liked it better when you had blue- or purple hair. at least then you looked like a violet."
"i almost don't even recognize you with that bland hair."
"it's so......... normal."
"what the hell happened to you?!?!?"
"you should change it back. this is terrible."

these fucking comments have gone on for the last 6 months. 
people must have been living vicariously through me more than i assumed they may have been, because these comments occur weekly @ the studio where i work, and without a lack of aplomb. 
i would never ever think to say shit like any of the mentioned comments on this post.
so- i'm not a magenta-haired woman in a lady-relationship, so what. 
what 2-dimentional existences do most people fucking live in?

who we are is not dictated by our outer shell. 
it is merely a vessel. 
for a heart, mind, soul.

too bad so many fuck-faces lack those vital ingredients. 
how sad.

who we are is not dictated by our sexual partners. 

who we are is not dictated by our careers, our finances, our geography, or our culture.

no- on the contrary.

who we are is how we love others, and ourselves.

who we are is the culmination of ideas we share and legacies therein we leave behind.

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Signs of the Apocalypse, Now

cool modern version movie art poster

i was calmly and curiously researching the bon iver concert schedule for this summer on npr website, and i hear a little chime informing me of a text i just received.

i heart justin vernon. 
you may want to give this a listen to put you in a relaxed mood to prep you for the following shitstorm: 

let me transcribe the texting exchange pour vous:

the boy-
"was reading in the paper today that some idiot lady got arrested for injecting botox into her 8 year old daughter for a pageant... fucking crazy!!!"

for the love of godzilla, what the fuck are people thinking here???
i'm not sure who i want to punch first- the mom or the kid


yeah, that's fair

 "and last night's 6pm news showed some quack giving it to girls for prom night. 
what the fucking fuck?!? makes me mad like the hulk."

 bruce and i suffer from the same anger management issues

the boy-
 "it's nuts."

yes, indeed it is nuts, to say the least. 
"beauty" pageants are such an archaic/insulting idea on so many levels. 
why do they exist? 
there have to be other ways to get a car or a scholarship. like getting a job, and having brains. 
but what do i know? 
and when was the idea of botox EVER a good idea? 
hmmmm... botulism? okay, give me a triple of that crippl'in stuff!
now- for the kids!  


Friday, May 13, 2011

w.m.4 -OR- how did THAT get in THERE?

i was reading a fashion/food-related blog posted by the lovely dirtycowgirl, and was reminded of a story which took place many moons ago. 

still looks like jackie gleason to me...

once upon a time i was 19, believe it or not. it's still true. and, no, i don't want to relive it. i'm not one of those assholes who tells my students that their teen years are the best of their lives. on the contrary, i tell them the harsh truth: it sucks ass for the most part. wait till your 20's for the real fun, and your thirties for the enlightened shit. but when i'm 40, i will probably be wrong about that too. anyhoo- the 19 thing was a learning experience, and i was lucky enough to not get busted for the dumb shit i did, but what the hell do you know at 19? not alot. sorry to any of you reading 19 year-old folks, i speak the facts. enjoy the splendor of not knowing, for it does not last forever.

arrested development: the best t.v. comedy ever written.

i was 19, and working in a quasi-famous restaurant. i did all the jobs there, depending on day/shift and necessity. i washed greasy pots/pans/dishes. i made salads and appetizer plates. i was a chef. i made bread and baked yummy numnums. i was the virgo ultimate.

no- not this one, but i do love the iconography of this nyc diner

now, many non-virgoan people have misconceptions about virgos being anally retentive and curmudgeonish or even cantankerous, lacking any warmth whatsoever. really? who writes this shit? 
fuck that stigma. i am an ex-slob, potty-mouthed, affection whore... much like my cat, who is a pisces. [i may or may not wax the astrological at a later date. keep posted.] i do possess the attention to detail we virgo peeps supposedly have, and i am uber-into world-wide ancient health and healing arts, like acupuncture, homeopathy and herbalism. i enjoy studying. nothing wrong with dropping knowledge on yourself, i say.

what one person thinks of us virgos- just the positive crap

okay, i was cooking at the restaurant or on salad patrol the day in mention. i remember working a double as well. it was the summer, because i also remember going out back to water the gardens and pick veg for the recipes i was concocting. 

2 onions, 4 cloves garlic, eye of newt, toe of toad...

guaranteed after a double-shift day, i came home pooped beyond recognition, and flopped down on the sofa to chill with the kitties. i'd come in, pee, grab a snack and some fermented beverages, and retire to the living room.

kitty knows best. 
now will you pass the popcorn... and the remote?!?!

i came in and greeted the felines, and went to the bathroom. sat to squirt, and what do i find- to my surprise?
an entire sprig of parsley. a large one.
in my panty.
as in IN.

the parsley showdown!

1] how did that get there? my clothing was fitted.
2] how did i not notice it? i get squirmy when a wedgie is threatening to make it's way up my ass.
3] what the fuck? i don't cook in my skivvies... at work at least.

i need these

perhaps i need my own forum of FAIL. 
sure do have enough instances of them.

like you have never done this...

hi, my name is violet, and i have herbs in my underwear. 
nice to meet you.

that's some tasty hatred!

i will be the first to admit that i can be a bit bold and brash when i get on a rant, and intolerant of people i feel uncomfortable by/about- in general, and also in my posts. 
see: rabbit-esque breeders, racists, and a variety of cruel ignoramuses. gross.

religious fanatics: making intolerance acceptable for two over two millennia!
that's some tasty hatred!

something i read recently has been reeling negatively in my head for days. [sorry, i cannot link to the blog post i read. i came across it via the "next blog>>" button.] it was a post attempting to be a simple complaint about the child-noise factor at the gym.
all in all, it ended up as a rant about how these two overweight women were kidding themselves about loosing weight by riding the stationary bike. this coming from someone who boasts going to the gym AT LEAST two times a day. 
admittedly, i didn't read the post as thoroughly as i read your blogs, dear readers, but for some reason, i cannot shake this person's b.s.
just one more judgmental fool in a sea of millions. 
scratch that, billions.

i pity the fool

it started as this faux moment of sharing, and ended up as preaching. [am i preaching here?] 
to sum up what i remember reading:
"i get up, go to the gym, eat a better breakfast than you, work a better job than you, go to the gym again instead of eating lunch, finish my stimulating work day, go to the gym again, have a superstar night life, go to sleep (on a bed made of kitten-souls,?) and wake up refreshed- and do it all again."
call me crazy, but does this sound a bit excessive to you? and this turd's not even an an athlete of any sort either. 
my guess: anorexic meanie at best.  
way to go, making fun of fat people at the gym. what next… the guy in a wheelchair??? 
help yourself to another bottle of haterade!
i will repeat:

240 calories per serving, these morsels leave you feeling empty inside.  
side effects: chronic verbal diarrhea and dropsy.

this jerk reminded me of my USED-TO-BE best friend's dad, who constantly made fun of poor people- often to their faces- stating self-righteously, that it's their own fault they are impoverished. nice, huh? as you may have guessed, of course, he used to be poor, but due to a few leg-ups, and sucking the right cocks, he's now an art seller who deals w/christie's. he works exclusively with those stupid 1800's american wannabe impressionism multi-million dollar paintings that suck anyway. yawn. boring. sell-out fuck. what a greedy jerk… he's also a self-hating jew; so, he's pretty much well rounded- as a classic asshole. 


you know, people like the above two examples are utter shit. 
in a fucking nutshell.

utter cute overload, also in a nutshell.
i needed to balance the smite with some sweet.

just because they may have had a crappy childhood peppered with the occasional narcissistic suffering, does that mean WE- the emotionally secure souls out there, who have perhaps had as much, if not MORE actual suffering- are supposed to allow this type of drivel to be spewed forth like it's the truth, poisoning all those in earshot… and actually even feel sorry for them, or maybe act overly compassionate towards them and their selfish plight… 
always letting it go- unchecked?

bullies always suck


start here

i say- i have had e-fucking-nough of that bad behavior!
say something in retort. 
stop those bitches in their tracks. 
someone has to, and i can't do it alone. 
i beseech thee to help.

lynxy and andy want to help- hooray!

there is a time to be a teacher, and gently guide the unguided.
and a time to punch someone in the mouth- even if only with your words.

how about a nice hawaiian punch?

yes, i pick my fights selectively. i know when to walk away, or ignore their crap, blahblahblog; but a well placed phrase can be an abortive to the nastily-worded inclinations of the soulless fucks we come into contact with every day. 
ignorance is bliss? 
think again.

this rant has been brought to you by the letters P, M, and S, and the number zero.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

W.M.3 -OR- i put the FUN in wardrobe malFUNction

i told you. i am not EVER going to be done fucking up how i cannot dress myself, and accidentally stay dressed for long periods of time. since i was a kid, my clothing always bore the brunt of my inner chaos. at the amusement of myself and others, it has not changed much- except i am a tad taller, have breasts now, and a much bigger butt than when i was five. 
thank goodness.

i wore rad stuff like this back then.
i no longer believe in visors.

earlier tonight my madre asked me "honey, can you run out and grab t.p. for me before the store closes"
okay i reply. "well, you better go now, they close in 12 minutes!" she chimed in.
i urgently shoved my feet into my shoes and checked my bag for my stop & shop* discount card, and ran to the car.

*not only in quahog

i get there with 4 minutes to spare and quickly toss the 5 items i was destined to buy for the night into my cart. the store was totally like a ghost-town version of supermarket sweep.
don't you just love an empty grocery store? me too.

t.p.- check!

i skid the cart up to the last open checkout lane, and chuck my crap onto the moving belt.
the register lady is half-assed looking at me. whatever, it's late, and i'm that jerk-off who sneaks in last moment, making their lives lamer than they were 5 minutes ago.
trust me, i get it, i used to work retail.

i heart emily haines, and this video rules

while i am paying, madre calls me and asks where i am. really? 
fucking sunning myself on the isle of capri, duh. 
"ummm, on the checkout line" i honestly reply. "well at macy's across the street, there was just an armed robbery, and the police don't have him yet. be careful please. lock the doors when you get in the car and call me before you return." i promise to do so.
i overhear the store manager talking about all the piggies with their guns drawn, in the store parking lot a few minutes prior to my arrival. wow, i have good timing.

pass the tanning butter

then i pack up my goods and run out of the store- pushing the cart which, inevitably has a "special" wheel- so, i am veering to the left, severely, and subsequently look like a tool. i am used to this.

still life with cart. poetic.

i do as i promised and then i drive back. i pull in and and park and then i return a phone call to a girlfriend of mine. (i get no service in the brick basement condo unit. i talk outside, and look like a kook.)
we talk for a few minutes when i discover this:

nice fashion combo, huh?

then it dawns on me: i was literally going to take a bath when she asked me to run to the store. 
i had already started to unbutton my top, and even left my towel in the middle of the living room when i was interrupted. i am fully aware that cheetah print and farmer plaid are a match made in heaven. 

i must be an angel.