You Can't Polish a Turd...

Or even a really poopy Sunday doodle! Being without a computer when I mainly edit and produce all my crappy art digitally is really, really frustrating, embarrassing and discouraging. 

Normally when I make patterns, I paint whatever, scan my pages, fix it all up in Photoshop, rearrange the pieces until I'm satisfied and then play around with the background color. Obviously not possible when I'm putting color straight down on paper, but hey, I'm trying to get better at producing art on the spot. And... I got a long way to go. 

This older guy at work stopped me last week and sweetly said "I don't mean to be forward, but have you been dieting? You look quite slender." And I have been celebrating that compliment all week with junk food galore! Slender?! Me?! Okay! I doodled some puffy Cheetos and Cap'n Crunch because that's all I have been eating lately. It's a super healthy new diet I am trying out called IDGAF.

Anyways, it's okay to not produce awe-worthy art all the time (or any of the time in my case.) Drawing the shitty stuff forges the path to drawing the less shitty stuff which in turn pours the foundation for drawing the mediocre stuff! It's all a process and being transparent and vulnerable during that process is key.

Tell me how you really feel!

When a coworker you don't even know stops you at 6 am to say this... And your response is "Uh, nah, I intentionally combed my hair to look like this..." Ugh, thanks for the feedback! I guess my pineapple-pony on top of my head isn't as well received as my mirror was telling me. Hahahaha... don't care. 

To be fair, I have no idea what my hair is doing 99.6% of the time; it has always been its on entity. *Shoulder shrug*

PS. My computer has been dead for 2 weeks now and I'm waiting to order a new MacBook. I'm Netflix-less, Photoshop-less and basically useless so this is as "arty" as I can get right now. 

BABE CITY. POPULATION: You.

For my birthday, my best friend sent me a package filled with babe stickers, SO DREAMY! A bunch of dudes I had a crush on when I was little and also when I was not so little. Not pictured: Macaulay Culkin (judge away.)

(Clockwise from top middle: Jonah Hill, O'Shea Jackson Jr. playing O'shea Jackson aka Ice Cube (to be clear, I love Ice Cube, but feel like OSJ Jr. would be more appropriate age wise,) Adam Driver, Jemima Kirke (girl crush, so sue me,) Evan Peters, Jason Schwartzman, Ben Haggerty aka Macklemore (swoooooon,) Johnathan Taylor Thomas with kittens (duh,) Jeff Goldblum, Young MJ and Andy Samberg.)

Decorated my work water bottle with a couple cuties to keep me company.

I think it's safe to say I have no type. JK. My type is famous people who don't know I exist. Also, my type is mostly anyone funny and who can make me laugh and make me not sad and also they have to be passionate about something important (but not something like racist or douchey.) Anyways, luckily I got these stickers because these are the only babes I can get to hang out with me. 

Boom. Roasted myself. 

            

Also, this framed JTT picture really makes you think. For example, why is he holding so many trumpets? Does Johnathan play the trumpet? Should I be holding more trumpets in my future selfies? Who was the creative director that came up with this idea? Did he/she have a successful career? Did their career suffer after this photo was released? And just plain, why does this exist and why does JTT hold so many props in all these early 90's photos? 

We might never know the answers to these questions, but that's inspiring in itself, isn't it? 

Now I'm gonna hole up and watch the Olympics for forever and be upset at my parents for not pushing to be more athletic and/or successful. Bye! 

To Blush or Not To Blush?

Sorry, the real question is when am I not blushing?? I heard a boy asking another coworker about this (regarding me) and I'd like to clarify: I'm always embarrassed and I'm always blushing. Especially when I am talking to dudes.

It's perpetual.

I think the sad thing is I literally didn't know people could see me blush until a couple weeks ago? I thought my skin had my back and was hiding all my wishy washy feelings but... Nah, I'm a beet. With acne. My skin/body hates me.

Ugh. Excuse me while I go hyperventilate. 

Let me change the subject right now to something way more interesting. My sweet, talented, so perfect ex-employee/friend from DC reached out to me the other day and wow, I really missed her?! Just talking to her and giving her my two cents about ~life~ was really nice. She posted this shout out afterwards and I was just floored by how thoughtful that was? Not bragging, but very grateful for having sweet people in my life, no matter the distance. Karina is currently in Chicago kicking ass as a designer and photographer for a cute start up company and I'm very proud of her. Her styling and design aesthetic is truly impeccable and I highly suggest you check her out and follow her rise as a successful artist! I mean, look at her hand lettering! My eyes are heart shaped right now, no joke. 

Usually my general presence makes peoples day way more sucky so... this is surprising.

Side note: according to my stats lately, my blog is very popular with those who live in Russia? Hey Russians! Thanks for looking at my crappy art, I appreciate you. Not stoked that you guys kind of tried to cheat the Olympics with that sketch drug test situation, but... we're cool.

My Week In Review

Quick, messy gouache doodles.

I've been having a weird past couple weeks. They've been really frustrating and embarrassing and awkward and... sweaty? (Sweat seems to be a strong theme, awesome.) Doodled out some of my anger this afternoon instead of taking a rage nap and I feel a lot better. Like, obviously more sleepy but not as mad.

No real way to explain the random bits and pieces I illustrated above other than to dive right in? Here are a few quick snippets of my bizarre week:

• I was driving to work at like 5 am and I pass a cemetery and I notice a lady taking a shit on a grave stone. Why? Also: seeing a middle age butt that early in the morning is not ideal.
• Talked to a jabroni at work and he said I didn't look Italian except for my hairy arms. So romantic and sweet of him. Not at all self conscious now. (Silver lining? I don't get cold easily. Also, clearly it's a conversation starter.)
• Developed a sweet sweat mustache that just seems to permanently rest on my upper lip. Thanks, humidity, you're a bitch. #realwomensweat
• Really wanted to flip off almost everyone I interacted with this week but very thankful for my self control and vivid imagination.
• Had a panic attack during work today because something triggered me and I couldn't breathe. I was cold sweating like a son of a gun and had to go to the bathroom to dry my armpits under the hand dryers in there. Side note: this was incredibly effective. Second side note: I know hand dryers are germ traps from hell but my armpits were a lost cause at this point. 

Also got called 'eccentric' today by a stranger, so thumbs up forever for being the weirdest human being alive without even trying.

Who knew that the USPS delivered when you're currently at Rock Bottom? Been feeling like giving up lately, but these surprise postcards made me pick up the towel again. (Towels on the floor are just lazy and quite frankly, gross.) But thank you, friend! Makes me want to also pick up a pencil again and draw (as opposed to blinding myself Oedipus style.)

Mail is a magic form of communication and sweet, handwritten words can carve themselves into your soul.

Send me love letters, homies.
PS. Not pretty or made of Au.

One Fourth Done

I try not to delve into personal matters on this platform, and I promise to not let this happen often, but I figured this is a pivotal point in my life and I should open up in case others feel similar ways about growing older. I want to be transparent about my insecurity with my age and my failure to measure up to the goals I set for myself and my career because I think we all glamorize what our lives actually are like. Like most people, I only present the positive aspects of myself online. You guys get to see the fun projects I am working on only when I choose to show you the fun projects I am working on. I don't post the tedious, frustrating freelance projects that are totally not my ~style~ that I'm totally not proud of (but that pay the bills) because I don't want you guys to see that stuff. You guys don't get to see all the ripped out sketchbook pages and all the hours I sit at my make-shift desk beating myself up for not being original or talented enough. That's just gross. I don't need anyone to pity myself as much as I already do. I don't want to be defined by that.

The point is, we are all so much more than the 2D, filtered version we post online. Our Instagrammed versions of ourselves are so colorful and perfectly cropped that you don't get to see the stained, hole-y sweatpants that are our actual lives. I love sweatpants! I love their comfortable practicability. I love the awkward, uncomfortable shame we feel when we wear them outside of the house- out of our comfort zone. I'm actually talking about my love for lounge wear while also talking about revealing vulnerable truths about our secret selves. Get it guys? C'mon. I was almost a nonfiction minor in college, metaphors are my bitches.

Just kidding, I dropped out of my writing classes because my classmates and teachers thought I was too depressing BUT I truly do love investigating why we are all the way we are. Why we see the world in whatever color glasses we chose to wear. Below is a little bit about myself that may explain better about who I am as a creative agent and as a regular old human being.

On the 4th of July, I turned 25 and I'm officially 1/4th of a century old. Ew. My. God.

I have always had a love/hate relationship with my birthday. They seemed magical when I was young (and when I thought the fireworks were for me) but as I got older, they felt way less special because I guess I realized I was way less special. That's how it is when your birthday is on a holiday. It's not really YOUR day, it's everyone's. It's not about you, it's about other peoples fun vacations and family gatherings and parties. And that's okay! That's how it should be! It never felt right to dictate what people should do on their day off just because I was born however many years ago that same day.

Independence Day is just like any other day of the year to a wrinkly, unborn baby who doesn't understand that the 4th of July is a drunkenly fun, sweaty holiday. I feel like I should make that clear because unborn baby Danielle didn't really choose to pop out with fireworks. A lot of people "oooooh" and "ahhhhh" about my birth date. A lot more people think I'm making it up- hospitals obviously don't deliver babies on national holidays! Absurd! And a few select call me "a little firecracker" or "Ms. Independence" or some other blush worthy nickname. Acquaintances comment that it's great to be born on a holiday because they'll always remember that that is my day. Awh, cute. But not the actual case, homies.

Although all the important people in my life remember my date of birth, a lot of people I wish did, don't. They are too busy entering hot dog eating contests or slurping watermelon slices or wearing patriotic clothing. My entrance into this Earthly whelm slips their mind because they are having so much fun celebrating America's freedom and enjoying their 3 day weekend and I'm honestly totally fine with that. It's nice that my DOB is associated with a carefree, glutinous day of the year. And no matter how much I try to deny that my birth date has any impact on who I actually am, it totally, completely does.

As a stubbornly firm believer of zodiac signs and astrology and personalities sculpted by the stars, I relish the idea that I have no control of who I am. That sounds bad but what I mean is that I love that I'm a crabby Cancer sign that hides in her shell of her home, who is protective over the ones that she loves, who puts up a hard exterior but is mushy, overly compassionate and sentimental as all hell deep down. I love that my best friend was born a day before me and my father was born a week after. I love that I'm surrounded by people who possess the same personality traits as me and understand who I am without really trying. And at the same time, it's hard. When more outgoing, loud, extroverted people don't get why I need to stay home and unwind after a day of work or socializing, I'm seen as boring or not fun. (I am both, but can't a girl have the benefit of some mystery?) When I am rerunning seemingly meaningless conversations in my head days after they happen, people say I'm obsessive or crazy but don't notice that I just really, really care about everyone I interact with. When people say I'm "short with them" or overly sarcastic, or just plain mean (LOL!) they don't see it as a defense mechanism to protect my overly sensitive self. I'm not complicated, I'm a textbook Cancer.

And since I'm overly analytical and "in my head" too much, I am hard on myself. I am no doubt a totally imperfect person. And I am no doubt my own, least favorite fan. But by not liking myself, I can motivate myself to be better than what I currently am. It's a tough pill to swallow when you're older than you ever thought you'd live to be. I never imagined being alive in my mid-twenties so picturing what I should be is really hard. I can only compare myself to the people who surround me and the people who surround me are really great, and really successful. Growing older and hitting "landmark" birthdays when you are no where as stable as your loved ones is just... annoying. I don't feel like celebrating my birth when I feel like I haven't accomplished anything worth celebrating. Everyone says age doesn't matter, but everyone also asks how old you are. And they automatically judge where you are in life and how successful you are based on their expectations and own experiences. It's human nature. We make life a competition and nobody wants a loser on their relay team.

I am a work in progress and I am a mess of puzzle pieces that are soggy and don't fit together. I am 25 now and I am trying not to barf every time I say that out loud. I am trying to let go of other people's expectations for myself and trying to make up my own to live up to. I am not defined by my age, my resume or where I have lived. 

Although I may hate my birthday and hate growing older, I am forever grateful that I was born on a day that celebrates independence. A day where we stood strong even though we stood alone. I don't like being held to expectations but I think it has set a nice precedent for my life.