Like I always say, you never really know what goes on inside other people’s relationships.
You know how I sometimes let my husband write my comic and then I just illustrate it? This comic was not my idea. It was not my idea. It was his idea. The Man’s. The Man thought of this. Not me. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, Happy Valentine’s Day. I guess we’re not exchanging gifts this year for financial reasons, so this comic is our gift to each other.
I wanted him to pose for the reference photo with me but he refused.
You have no idea what goes on in other people’s relationships.
This would have have been an insomnia comic if he hadn’t come up with this idea. I had a couple scripts in varying degrees of completion but none of them were going to get finished before I passed out from exhaustion. Good thing he’s sometimes timely. And funny. And I love him. Happy Valentine’s Day.
It’s a family name.
Please understand that this comic in no way reflects my relationship. The Man would never a) keep a pair of socks with holes in them, b) wear tighty whities/a tank top, or c) own a La-Z-Boy. He would also not miss his mouth if I made him nachos. He is too fond of nachos to treat them with such disrespect. Also, I don’t think I could get him to wear a crown no matter how many beers I got him. Well, maybe, but it would have to be a lot of beers. Anyway, he never claimed to be a prince.
I should have given the prince a 5 o’clock shadow. You get the picture.
Today I applied for a job, one that pays money. Got a callback right away because–yo! I gots mad writing skillz. At least where those skillz pertain to the writing of cover letters. Also, I have 20 years of experience. But I still have to take a test. Between that and making a new bulletin board for the elementary kiddies (the old one blew away and the librarian replaced it with a sign that read “This sign is out of order. Please do not read this sign.Oh, no, now you’ve done it. You should stop reading this! Why are you still reading this broken sign? Now you must go back to the top and start over”) and trying to finish 2 books and write articles about them, and of course, draw a comic and maybe work on a novel, Dragon will be a busy Dragon tomorrow.
Now Dragon is a migraine-y Dragon. No more screens.
I know it sounds cliché but I just feel like I need to spread my wings right about now. It’s, you know, time for me to fly.
Eventually he should catch up, right? But by then she’ll be dead, because butterflies don’t live that long. These May-December romances can be problematic. For example, mismatched sex drives (nonexistent in caterpillars). It’s imperative to start therapy immediately upon recognizing the problem or there’ll be nothing left to save.
In addition to this very silly comic, today, in honor of Miss Kitty’s birthday, I also baked the richest chocolate cake I’ve ever eaten. Thirty years too late for me to truly enjoy it. Ah, well. I’ve metamorphosized, too. Also into something more colorful.
Anyone who knows us knows that The Man and I still play hide and seek, often in a very one-sided way where only one person knows that the game is happening and the other one is extremely surprised when they realize that they’re participating, so clearly we aren’t going to be old or jaded anytime soon. Also, I would never sit under a bug zapper, because I read research that showed they atomize bugs and exude the particulate matter of bug guts over a two meter radius. So if you sit like these people, you are breathing bug vapor. So I don’t know where this came from, except that subconsciously I must have registered the sound of my neighbor’s bug zapper while The Man and I were in the hot tub tonight.
We did have an outlet that was arcing some of the time, but only when I touched it. The Man didn’t believe me about it for months. Until he got zapped, of course. Then he fixed it. I don’t drink coffee, but I’ve seen the cold coffee-metal spoon-microwave combo on more than 1 occasion and once wrote a flash fiction about it, although, in hindsight, the ending should be the microwave laughing to itself or thinking “Revenge is mine” or “My chance has come at last.”
Whatever you do, do not Google “mermaid sushi” unless you really, really want to see mermaid sushi.
Got the book files out today and then had to double check to see if I still remembered how to draw without the Wacom tablet. Sketching is easier on paper, but lettering is harder. I could mess with this picture for another 2 hours but I just wanted to remind myself that it’s possible to quick tell story in pictures without digital help. Although I fixed the lettering up in Photoshop. Plus, it’s almost midnight. So here is a silly comic.
No nipples on these mermaids. I’m not sure if that’s self-censorship or just a simple fact of life. Like, do mermaids lactate? Presumably they lay eggs like most fish, because their reproductive parts have to be located in the fish section, but the human section has hair, so maybe they are mammals on top even if they don’t get live birth. Although you never see mermaids drawn with armpit hair. But obviously they eat sushi every night, and raw steak would be a glamorous, unusual foreign treat.
It seems unfair that it takes me just as long to draw a comic with terrible artwork as it does to draw one with beautiful illustrations.
Just a little bit of silliness, plus an excuse to use a lot of sesquipedalian words, because I’m not abstruse enough. I do have a little bit of face blindness and a marked inability to recollect people’s names 30 seconds after meeting them myself, actually, although I learn to recognize people after repeated exposure, so hopefully no offense taken by people with legitimate neurological disorders.
Long, tired day.
I spent way too much time trying to make the baby donkey look cuter and fluffier.
I read that the pawpaw is the only tropical fruit native to Michigan. I don’t really understand how, because I lived in Michigan for 4 years and there is absolutely nothing tropical about it. From the beginning of September until the end of May, it’s cold, and I always assumed that tropical fruits came from the tropics. Maybe they mean that it’s the only tropical fruit that can survive living in Michigan. I could not thrive in that weather, so I moved to Arizona. I have never eaten a pawpaw, not this kind of pawpaw, anyway. Some people refer to papaya as pawpaw, but it’s a totally different fruit.
“The Fruit of the Pawpaw Tree” is the last story in the book (but the penultimate story of our BJC comic journey) and a lot of people list it as their favorite, because it’s the happiest, most optimistic story in the book. It’s like Susanna in this story redeems all the hurt and broken women in all the other stories. Sometimes life is hard, but sometimes if you’re hard, you get through it OK. Sometimes you close yourself off to certain emotions, but then one little thing gets through your armor, and you realize you don’t have to be closed off to everything, all the time. People totally do find love at 64.