Is THIS Bliss?!

Lorina's Blog


Most Wonderful Time of the Year!

Halloween season is upon us! Yay! We already have one costume event – the Headbanger’s Ball – under our metal-studded belts, with possibly two more this week. Krispy Kreme’s Talk Like a Pirate Day on Thursday, where you can get a free dozen donuts for dressing like a pirate. Hell, I’d wear my pirate garb for no reason whatsoever, let alone for free food! And the next day is a Zombie Walk at the Steamtown Mall in Scranton. Don’t worry. There will be photos.

I’m planning Game of Throne costumes for Halloween itself. I’m going to attempt to be Daenarys, with Fritz as Ser Jorah. And sticking with the GoT theme, I’m making our Pekingese Beavis into Tyrion Lannister. He’s already an imp and has the personality to match. Ok, on a good day, he’s Tyrion. On a bad day, he’s more Joffrey. Aren’t I lucky?

The dog’s costume is done. Not only did I make him a red brocade doublet with black satin trim, but I went one more step into Crazytown. I made him a “Paw of the King” pin. What? He’s a dog. He can’t be Hand of the King.

Paw of the King

Sculpey clay, some acrylic paints, and a self-stick pin back, and I’m really happy with how it turned out. Since Fritz’s reaction was “Where did you get this?!” not “When/how did you make this?!” I’m guessing he thinks it’s pretty good, too.

Beavis as Tyrion

I tried to get him to hold the battleaxe in his mouth for the photo, but that wasn’t happening. Maybe I’ll have to whip up a Sansa or Shae costume for myself to accompany him if there’s any pet costume contests. Why not? I’m already nuts!

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It’s not spam.

Losing my cat Gracie in June made me realize that I needed a new portrait of her. I hadn’t painted her since she was a bat-eared kitten. And all the other cats since then… I hadn’t painted them, either. When I went to the craft store to pick up the unfinished wood box that would become her urn, I got some art supplies, too, and got started on her picture. When I finished up her eyes, my own teared up. Gracie was gone, but she was staring right back at me.

And that’s what renewed my love of painting. That snowballed into painting my other cats who hadn’t yet been immortalized, painting Beavis again, doing a few other paintings as gifts, and revamping my site for my art, which had gone stagnant the past few years.

So thank you, Baby Grace, for nine years of love and laughter, and reminding me that painting is something I love doing, need to be doing, and should be doing.

Beavis: It's Still Fun and Games

Trevor and River

It’s not spam if you’re posting one of your own sites to your own site, right? Networking. Yeah. That sounds better. Anyway, I’m happy to announce that I’ve re-launched my website for my artwork. Here you go: Lorina’s Pet Portraits

I gotta say, though, that trying to figure out pricing is difficult. Why is it so hard to place a value on your own worth? On one hand, I don’t want to take anyone to the cleaners. On the other, I think I’m a damn good artist, and don’t want to charge so little that I’d earn more working a minimum wage job. On the other, other hand, because apparently, I have extra arms now, I’m much happier painting than any job I’ve ever had.

So… yeah. If you know anyone who’s totally nuts about their pets, please send my link their way. Or think about what a kickass gift a portrait would make for holidays, weddings, anniversaries, birthdays.

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No Comprende, It’s a Riddle

Things I don’t understand, in no particular order.

The Little Sad Pillow.

When Fritz first moved in with me, almost 12 years ago, he ended up staking claim to the right side of the bed, and to two pillows. At the time, they were both relatively new pillows, but over the years, one has become… a pancake. It’s about two inches thick, and when I put it in a pillow case, it looks like Kate Moss wearing a dress made for Queen Latifa. But he won’t let me replace it. I tried once. I swapped it out with a nice thick fluffy down pillow, and put Little Sad Pillow on the spare bed. It didn’t go well. That was about 8 years ago, and Little Sad Pillow is still going strong. Lumpy and flat, but strong.

And I know he’s not the only one. My father had a his own Little Sad Pillow. It may well have been from when he and my Mom first married in 1954. He took his pillow on vacation with him. Couldn’t sleep without it. A casual poll among friends shows that other spouses have the same attachment. I suppose it’s a good thing. If they’re so devoted to a pillow that’s long since lost its shape, perhaps they’ll have the same feelings for their wives once we’re a bit… uh… deflated.

Giving Things that Make Noise to Children.

Children, in and of themselves, are noisemakers. It’s what they do best. They squawk. They scream. They shout. They squeal like a dolphin in a net for no reason. They sing with abandon. They don’t have an “inside voice.” Therefore, they have no need for kazoos, whistles, vuvuzelas, horns, clackers, bells or whatever other method of amplification my neighbors’ granddaughter always seems to have when she’s visiting. Why does anyone think this child needs to be louder than she already is?!

I say I don’t like children, but really, it’s the parents and guardians that are the problem. If my dog was outside making a racket for hours on end like that, people would call the zoning board or the animal shelter and file a noise ordinance complaint. And before that would ever happen, I’d bring him in the house, because his barking drives ME nuts. But you can’t complain about kids being noisy or you’re Satan.


They’re smaller than cars. They’re way smaller than tractor trailers. Yet louder than both put together. Why do they have to be so frickin’ loud? I miss huge chunks of dialogue watching television if a motorcycle rides by. I can’t hear a damn thing until they’re about a half mile away. And that’s with the doors closed and windows shut. Damn this intersection!

The Kardashians.

Why do I even know who these people are?

Dogs’ Bladder Control.

No matter how long I walk our little Beavis, no matter how far I walk him, no matter how many times he pees during that walk, he always, always, always manages to save up one tiny little tinkle for the telephone pole in front of the house. Just a few drops, but a tinkle none the less. I once counted nineteen piddle stops in a three-quarter of a mile walk. That’s about once every 200 feet. And I’m not sure which confuddles me more, his ability to make so much wee, or the fact that I counted and calculated his wee frequency.

And We’re Back to the Bedding.

I have a bedding fetish. No, not like I want pleather sheets or anything, because that would just be gross and weird, and the thought of my sweaty ass sticking to… nevermind. I just like accumulating bedding. Sheet sets. Comforters. Duvets. Shams. Dust ruffles. And I want them to be pretty and match. But… no one ever sees them but Fritz and I, and most of the time we spend in there, it’s dark and our eyes are closed. The only time anyone who isn’t one of us sees the bedroom is when I’m giving someone who’s never been here a tour of the house, and everyone I know has already seen it.

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