Really Bugs.

I don't know what's happening, but as of late, the insects of the world have combined their forces in attacking me.

Twice now, I've gone to get into my car and drive away late at night only to find that a kamikaze moth has infiltrated the safety of my vehicle.  Moths are evil. I know this because they wait to make their appearance until I am already in motion, forcing me to swerve, slam on my brakes and shriek while I try to simultaneously roll down the window and direct it (via frantic hand motions) OUT.

Moths have scarred me for life.
One year at girls camp, there was a veritable infestation at Camp Koholowo. We'd find them in our bags, on our pillows and lying dead in piles around the cabin floor. Up until that point, I'd viewed moths as a less beautiful version of butterflies. Feeling very much like a moth myself in a world full of butterflies, I was determined to still love them despite their supposed unattractiveness.

That is until that first night when one of them kept flying into the light, causing a continual *plink*.. *plink*... *plink* and keeping my already frenzied mind from sleeping. That was when they morphed from something unappreciated to something inherently evil. It must have been bothering 'da twinneh' too, because she asked/pled with me to get up and kill the thing.

Being somewhat of the protector at the time (that or a glutton for punishment), I ventured out to do her bidding. Grabbing some spare toilet paper, I waited for the perfect instant to grab it and squish it between the folds.

What I did not realize regarding moths up to this point, was that they CRUNCH.

Feeling something 'crunch' between your fingers may very well be the worst feeling in the world. Beetles and moths are probably the worst offenders. I know because, as much as I tried to never again experience it, I crunched one recently by accident that had been attracted to the glow of my laptop during the night as I pulled it from my backpack. Thus, repressed childhood memories.

And apparently the ghosts of murdered moths past are coming back to haunt me. Along with their spider brethren.

I discovered one while opening my gifts at a bridal shower last weekend. I pulled out a salad bowl and some summer plates and found him waiting at the bottom of the sack. All I can figure is that he was either trying to kill me or steal my gifts, I can't be sure.

Either way, he waved his little pincher feet at me menacingly.

And then, yesterday when I came home to my apartment with arms full of groceries, a mini tarantula dropped out of no where and landed right on my hand.

It took all of the energy I possessed not to drop the load and jump backwards, which would have resulted in my death considering there was a railing and a three-story drop if I had done so. The best I could do was hold my breath and try to squish him with the only limb available, which happened to be a foot.

Which is rather hard to do when the spider in mention is a trick spider and can not only scurry up the door frame but jump fastastically.

I'm sorry to report that I didn't get him.
He escaped into his little hole to re-plot my doom.

And so I live in constant fear.
This is evidenced by the fact that the fiance's shirt lightly brushed my leg last night while watching TV and I jumped a mile, swatting whatever creepy-crawly I was convinced was there.

This is not good people. Not good.

'Drawn'-out.

I love seeing time lapses of artists making their artwork. So today I thought I'd share a little play-by-play of some of the pieces I've done recently.

Unfortunately for you, I haven't the time nor equipment to sit down and film myself creating a drawing in one attempt. My method is to work for as long as I possibly can before I go eraser-crazy then come back later.

I could potentially come back to the same piece an infinite amount of times, because it never seems quite right once I've given my brain a break from staring at it. But those are the times when I just have to call it 'good enough for who it's for' and finish the dang thing.

Speaking of 'who it's for', this first example I did for my former roomie, (sad day..) Lacy-Hacy's, upcoming wedding. Instead of a guest book, she's going to have people leave a thumbprint 'leaf' on this tree then sign their names very petitley beneath it.

You can thank Pinterest for her ingenuity.

This is how it started out. Looking EXACTLY like the picture reference she had given me. However, I was quickly informed that I was doing it 'all wrong' and that she wanted it to be 'less short and squatty' and with a 'less perfect heart'.

Forgive me for liking perfection, Bridezilla.

Once I had lengthened the tree and imagined more branches, (no small feat for me, I hardly ever draw from my imagination) I began shading in dimension with a brown soft lead pencil.

It was then that Lacy-Hacy informed me that maybe she did want her and her fiance's names included in the drawing. Did I mention that was why the tree was 'short and squatty' to begin with?? To allow room for said features?..

Have I also mentioned that she's somewhat of an indecisive Bridezilla?
Yes? Moving on then.

After similar indecisiveness surrounding what she would like the birds to look in her tree, I threatened to make them look like this:

Needless to say, she wasn't amused and increased the level of 'testiness' in our correspondence.

When she finally sent me an image of what she wanted, I penciled in two little bluebirds representing her and lover-boy. Naturally, one had a larger beak than the other. I'm not saying who it represents.

As if that weren't hassle enough, it took me another seven years to find out what font she wanted me to replicate for their names. Did I mention that this commission was pro bono?

Or that I no longer have any hair from pulling it out?..

But it was all worth it in the end upon seeing her satisfaction with the finished product. And my free-hand calligraphy turned out amazingly well, if I do say so myself.

My second example is a drawing I did for my and the fiance's parents last Christmas. I probably should have taken a picture of the rough sketch before I added any shading, but in all honesty, rough sketches of humans are often quite scary. I'm talking super hideous here people.

Be grateful that we live in a 3-dimensional world.

The only thing that prompted me to document the beginnings of my drawing at all was a need for validation. Luckily, 'da twinneh' recognized who I was trying to draw, albeit over poor quality picture message.

And so I plodded along, hoping that I wasn't horribly mangling President Monson's loving features too much.

That's the problem with drawing a person you (and possibly a LOT of others) know. There's always something wrong with the depiction, because everyone looks at different things in a face.

Gratefully, I've only gotten an overwhelmingly positive response about the image, because I was a little worried there.

It was two months in the making, but I finally finished it. And this time round, I decided to let Photoshop add the wording in for me.

Then it was packaged, wrapped and gifted. And now hangs happily in both homes, not to mention Lacy-Hacy's bedroom, her parents' house and her soon to be in-law's house.

So there you have it.

Creating artwork is fun when you stop second-guessing yourself and aren't collaborating with a semi-unresponsive/indecisive bride.

It's also fun when you get paid.

But then again, I wouldn't know anything about that.

And so leads the life of Corinner-Elly.

WTH, OCD?..

I just don't understand people.

One minute they're praising my detail oriented manner when it comes to wedding planning, the next they're teasing me for handing out aesthetically designed color swatches.

They come home to enjoy a newly cleaned kitchen then promptly mock my desire to rearrange the fridge and straighten the towels.

On occasion, they observe my pristinely folded drawers with admiration then criticize my innate desire to hang up the shirts they seemingly abandoned on the floor.

Even at work, the office manager introduces me as 'the clean one' then eyes me suspiciously as I pick up the tiny white circles that have escaped from the 3-hole punch by hand.

And to top it all off, I am frequently complimented on my perfectionist talents then unabashedly teased for using them.

I can't tell you how many times the topic of 'Corinner-Elly's idiosyncrasies' has come up at Sunday dinner. It is rivaled only by chicken horror stories and infamous acronymical nicknames given to axe wielding perpetrators.

No one complains when I pull 'whatever they are in desperate need of at the moment' from my Mary Poppins purse, but they are oh-so-quick to intentionally skew my neat stack of textbooks or plop a heaping mound of refried beans on my nicely cleaned plate.

Sorry bus-boy, I tried.

All I'm saying is that 'people' should be grateful that they don't have to pull nasty black hairs out of gobs of toothpaste that were formerly stuck to the bathroom counter.

Then conversations like this happen, and I start to lose faith in humanity.

False accusations, I tell you. 
I can guarantee that if the TP had indeed been gone, I would have replaced the roll. Come hell or high water, it would've been done.

Plus, she should be thanking me that I've taught her such valuable lessons such as 'shutting the shower curtain'! Not everyone has a sister that loves them that much.

Even the fiance acknowledged that it only took forgetting once to reform him. I'm that good of a teacher.

Now.. this all may come across as very condescending and/or hoity-toity, but I do it out of love, people. LOVE.

Here's the thing, I don't think my way is the ONLY way.
I just think their way is usually wrong.

I am more than happy to concede that there are other perfectly logically ways to do things. I just don't encounter very many people who are capable of  actually doing them well.

I repeat. Love.

Oh Yes I Did.

April 13th was 'National Scrabble Day'.
It's a sacrilege how few people know that.

I had planned to spend the evening playing a rigorous game of Scrabble Diamond Edition with the fiance (formerly referred to as the 'BF') and eating Scrabble Cheez-Its in celebration.

He, however, was subsequently invited to a Salt Lake Bee's game where he volunteered to dress up as a giant ice-cream cone and race a hot dog and a slice of pizza around the field.

Why?.. You might ask?
Beats me if I can think of a valid reason.

Let's just say he almost won. 'Almost' meaning he tripped during the final stretch, fell fantastically and lost to a hot dog. (He claims, in defense, that the hot dog had an unfair advantage, being more aerodynamic and all. And it's hard to see when you're a giant ice-cream cone. Apparently.)

It's a story that's best heard in person.
Ask him about it.

The point being, when I got back to an empty apartment that day, feeling a little sad that I was going to be all alone for the evening, I found a little surprise waiting for me on the kitchen table.

The fiance (BF at the time) had taken his enormous stash of miscellaneous Scrabble tiles, purchased for my Valentine's Day surprise, and left me a little message.

Let's just say he was immediately forgiven for deserting me on perhaps the greatest of unofficial holidays. And for causing me more mending work by ripping his pants in the 'Great Ice-Cream Cone Fiasco of 2012'.

Remember that. It's goin' down in history.

You might also remember the greatest thing I was ever given, FOR FREE. Namely, the world's comfiest couch.

So when I mentioned that I wanted to re-cover three of the pillows to look like Scrabble tiles but wasn't sure what letters to choose, the fiance exposed his genius and suggested his (and soon to be MY) last name.

And thus, the NAY Scrabble pillows were born.

Don't they look gorge!?
I know someone who uses this as a slang abbreviation for 'gorgeous'. Decided I'd try it out. See how it feels. (Update: I don't like it. Tastes like word vomit. 'Delete' from brain.)

Oh, and P.S. The Scrabble fridge tiles are still in good use.
And have expanded to include a :), :(, :P, ..., " and :D. Among other things.

Now spelling out happy little messages is a breeze!
Not to mention more grammatically correct.

So there you have it.
I'm obsessed with everything Scrabble.

Someone please buy me this.