Digital Art? More Like Digital Barf

But I love it. I have so much fun making these beauties I’ve decided to share them. ONLY THE BEST. WITH ALL OF YOU.

Artist Statement: For what is love and passion but the unwavering fear of eventual decay of complacency.

Please enjoy.

imagination-is-funbad-boysdino-lovehaiku-queenkawaii-from-the-eyes-to-the-thighssakra-dinosaurtrue-love

 

PS. thanks google for the base images. I owe you one. Also, I wrote that haiku. I’m a genius.

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Memoirs of a Millennial: Chapter 1

The Introduction: A Year and a Half Out of College. The Awakening

Hello.

I am a Millennial.

Just so you know, I don’t plan these collections of essays or whatever to be some sort of biting rhetoric discussing the socio economic and emotional standpoints of people within my generation. I’m pretty sure that’s been done somewhere. I don’t expect or plan to really have any sort of anything, “New” or, “Fresh” to tell you.

I’m a Millennial, and I’m just trying to figure out who the fuck I am.

Context.

I’m 23 at the start of this whole shebang. I graduated college about a year an half ago with a degree in Historic Preservation. I liked it, but the big thing here is that I decided to be an idiot and follow passions and get a degree related to  history. Rather than computer science. Which would’a been smart.

I’m employed tho, yo. I’s gots meeself a couple of different gigs over the past year an a half. I interned for a museum so as soon as I graduated my old boss lickity split called me up and was like, “You want that job that you need a degree for which was basically your internship but more money and better title?”

I said, “Ye.”

So! I’ve been there. I’m a “Special Assistant” to a curator. I call myself an Assistant Curator because that isn’t a lie, and it also sounds better for when I’m trying to talk myself up to boys and employers. This is how I imagine that conversation going.

Boys in my imagination:

“Hey so what do you do?”

“Oh, you know,” I say tucking my hair behind my ears, “I’m an assistant curator. I work with incoming collections in order to write research and write reports and catalogue some incredibly moving, and poignant artifacts.”

“Oh snap,” he says getting flustered, “That’s so hot. Can I get your number?”

Boys in real life:

“Hey so what do you do?”

“Oh, you know,” I say tucking my hair behind my ears, “I’m an assistant curator. I work with incoming collections in order to write research and write reports and catalogue some incredibly moving, and poignant artifacts.”

“Oh. Cool.” He goes back to his drink.

I’d do the same with employers, but it’s essentially the same scenario except for instead of being all hot and bothered and wanting my number, they give me a job. Which, if we’re super honest, is kinda a better fantasy.

So, essentially, I was rolling in this post grad lifestyle alright. I had a (part time) job at a museum, I was in my field, I was gold. Living at home, but gold. So November 2k15 rolls around and around that time I was going through one of many, “What the fuck am I doing?!” panics. These panics usually tend to last a few days, and are usually emotionally draining as all get out. I am not unique in these panics, but it’s always unique when it’s you. See, I have this thing about not wanting to waste time in my life. Real talk? One of my biggest fears is to be be 40, and utterly and completely disappointed in my life. I’m intimidated, overwhelmed, and excited about how much life has to offer. I want to suck up as much as I possibly can before I’m old. So, in this effort, I decided to start thinking about teaching English abroad.

Now, this sounds like a super cool plan. I could be one of those token white girls who went and had a huge, life changing experience overseas. Plus, I’d get to travel for a year and get paid for it. Like it sounds like a solid plan.

But.

Where do you draw the line between running from your actual life goals, and experiencing pleasure and adventure?

I couldn’t decide. But, I decided to enroll in a teaching program that would, after a 6 month or so period, hand me a TEFL certificate saying I was qualified to teach English globally. I liked the class. It was online, I did it while working, I felt full filled. I ended up doing my practicum at a local community college. This happened Jan 2k16.  I brag about this bit all the time. I was less than a year out of school and I was teaching college to kids my age. I have stories from this time, but I’m trying to give you all context to who I am as a person first so bear with me.

So I get this certificate, right? I’m even qualified to teach business english and young kids. And then I start questioning if I really wanna teach English, just even as a year long gig.

Which I’m still messing with like how many months later, by the way.

So, by this time it is spring of 2016. April, I believe. Good month. ( I guess?) Essentially through my boss at the museum I score a second part time job as a receptionist at a gated old people community. Sorry, “active living” community. Essentially they all had their own houses but didn’t want any kids, or their neighbors kids, ruining their golden years. (Whatever.)

Not gonna lie, it was the easiest yet most frustrating job I’ve ever had. Easy cause I worked evenings and nights so I was essentially paid to chill at the front desk for 6 hours. It was frustrating as all get out because some of these old people were THE ABSOLUTE WORST.

THE ABSOLUTE WORST.

I’ve never had so many crusty old people whine about where they were going to sit at a picnic IN MY LIFE. Or how someone’s dog crapped on their lawn. The rumors were true! I swear to whatever deity you worship people.

It goes something like this:

“Meg. I know there is nothing you can do about this, but there is a dog… on the nature trail… and their owner… their owner just lets them poop! EVERYWHERE. They just leave it! Can you believe it?! THEY JUST LEAVE IT.”

I left that job at the end of September and I’ll tell you what it feels like an eternity since i’ve been there and to be frank, that is a-ok.

Quit that job because a restoration/admin job landed full frontal in front of me. So I took it. I’ve been spending the past- sheesh has it been almost 2 months now? Driving up to Alexandria a couple times a week to a Gilding shop.

For those who don’t know, and I’m not making fun, it’s essentially taking frames and other decorative things and applying gold leaf to them.

So I’m learning how to do that as well as taking care of the antique shop out front, and keeping inventory, the books, bills, etc. I’ll be real, I’m still working the museum gig so when it rolls round to the shop time, I forget things. And I feel REALLY bad about it. I hate asking for help at work, guys. I really do.

It’s the end of November, now. And this is where I’m at. 23, vaguely confused, and fundamentally, a millennial.

I’ll be back.