worn in

This is a new year? I beg to differ, I think someone has been out joy-riding in this one and there are scuffs and scratches all over it. I demand a refund.

Sitting in the Crapme pharmacy waiting to have my new antibiotic scrip filled, I stared at the stack of Valentine's candy that had started to accumulate. Reminding me that in barely over a month it has been a year since this whole hole fiasco cracked, lovingly open.


not a toy © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.


I am starting to emerge now from the deep gullet of the holidays to take stock. The more dreaded holy day was the Christmas portion, half for the bacon preface and half for my maternal confrontation epilogue. To help take the edge off (read: avoid the food missiles being launched at us) Mr. The D absconded with me for a visit to the Zerbe Township Rod & Gun Club.


gun club © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Strangely I felt slightly more healthy in a room filled with taxidermied mounts, plastered with NRA stickers than I did over Christmas Eve dinner. Beans. With bacon. Potatoes. With bacon. Chicken. Fried in bacon grease. Bacon. With bacon. For dessert, we ensconced ourselves in Heroes dvds and entered a foodless trance that lasted successfully until we packed our bags to head to Lancaster.


lilting delilah © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Strangely it was actually a relief to get to my parent's house. No pressure to bestow glorious gifts on anyone. No pressure to eat until we collapsed under out own weight. And buckets of fresh, steamed broccoli. Hallelujah. And a steady stream of kitties to exercise with. And shockingly, no fights or dramatics.


driftwood © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Granted, the presence of my mother's former coworker and his family who do not speak much at all English created a certain level of weird awkwardness. But that discomfort was not pointed directly at me. And this made all the difference.


axis © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

The week that followed was wildly lacking in work and productivity, aside from the erection of my big fat etsy shop where I am selling prints! Where I have already sold a print! (thanks Kristen!) Where I would like to sell oodles more prints! Go! Go now!! Am thinking maybe a calendar?! Who knows!

The remaining days of 2007 we spent in the company of people who have taken their devotion to feline perfection to a near-religious level. Mr. D has embarked on a months-long reportage of cat fancier shows, as he himself is rather devoted to cats, he is seeking to photograph people who can eclipse his own, uh, fancy. And naturally their furry friends. And as long as I do not develop an physical (or mental) allergy to said friends, furry or otherwise, I am coming along.


knucklehead © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

At the risk of sounding like a crazy cat lady, I really do love cats. The vicodin is going to start talking right now. I have an enormous soft spot for fluffy cats. Especially Maine Coons. They are gigantic as far as domesticated cats go. Even though (from my reading) the closest thing to having a wild cat domesticated is probably a Bengal (evidently they were initially bred out with wild leopards), you see a Maine Coon stretched out full length and you really have to wonder if they weren't bred out with tigers rather than their namesake.


solar power © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Our New Year plans brought us to Philly for a new year's eve par-tay at a terrifically swank penthouse apartment. The deck on top of the world looked down on the Kimmel Center and the finest chunk of the Philly skyline. Plus an amazing spread courtesy the foodie genius hostess and live entertainment, courtesy the guests playing Rock Band vigorously. Though there is little more entertaining than watching someone who has some pretty rampant OCD get hammered and tumble down stairs trying to pick up crumbs. No photos of that, sorry.

I do, however, have some photos from just before the holiday onslaught. Shanners and I played hooky one afternoon to frolic in Manayunk and the NoLibs in the rain with holiday shoppers. And in her bedroom thereafter.

Don't be dirty.


call of the mild © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

We hit up Mugshots Coffeehouse (the other location where Dust and I did not have work being shown), Art Star, and Chic Petique. At said Petique, crack-snack addicted sphynx cat, Mischa grappled with me until I fed her. Her purple SoftPaws no protection for my hands that still bear the marks. She also wore this giant bejeweled collar so I felt like I was fighting an old street woman for day old bagels. She did not want me to touch her. Clearly. She was the one doing all the touching.


mischa © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

The store was super-cute and the girl who worked their very nice and I must send photos over. I just wanted to tack these on for good measure, since I wouldn't want it to look like I've been sitting on my laurels for weeks. The weather is supposed to bounce from sub-zero to sixties in under three days, so hopefully I will have maybe one day off to play like its springtime and do some artful marketing to magazines while the design work is currently in sharp decline. And making me worry excessively.