'Gull' is Norwegian for yellow. No idea why carrots are called 'yellow root' in Norwegian. Or why oranges are called 'Chinese apples.' The Chinese part I kinda get, but apple? They're nothing like apples!
Two weeks in a row! Let's see if I can keep this up.
This is actually an abridged version of the complaints these two had. If you will, imagine listening to this for the entire time it takes to walk from one campsite to another. It's not a short walk, by the way.
This has not been a good month for me so far. I could go on at length, but suffice to say that life has been happening with unusual frequency lately.
And to top it off I actually *do* have the next comic ready. I just can't access it because the computer my brother and I *finally* got working (mostly) decided to stop recognizing the Wacom tablet and keyboard *after* I'd finished the comic but before I saved it as a jpeg on my flash drive. The computer turns on, but without any way to see the desktop I can't do anything with it.
Panel 3: Parking is straight ahead. Follow the signs to customs.
I am so sorry! I'm sure it's purely coincidental that I've been having so many technical difficulties with page 13. Very sure. Yeah.
Anyway, I'm tired of having to rearrange my desktop, including aspect ratios which don't always work and preferences that get reset for no reason I can think of, every time I want to use my tablet. So I got the parts and had my brother put together a computer rig specifically for my tablet. One problem. *Every time* I try to put the Photoshop installation CD into the computer the tablet goes out of sync and shuts down. Can't really install something if I don't have a monitor to see what I'm doing. GAAAA! And this rig is totally useless if I can't get Photoshop onto it! I have a ten-pound paperweight! *bangs head on desk* I wonder if my brother has a spare monitor I can borrow for a little while.
Is it normal to be this freaked out about bugs and arachnids? Because I remember alternating between annoyed and amused by the whole thing. Not that I'd want one of the poisonous specimens crawling on me. That would be scary.
Sorry for the delay. Again. Life happened a lot. And then there was the heat wave that made drawing rather difficult. (The tablet gets very warm very quickly and my hands tend to stick to paper.) I think I'm starting to catch up on a lifetime of inadequate sleep, so maybe I'll be able to update more frequently.
In many ways I'm not easily grossed out. I also don't particularly like cleaning. When I am grossed out, however, I either avoid that which grossed me out like the plague or clean it down to the microscopic level. The latter usually arises if I have to live in the same building as the gross thing. It's also why I rarely showered during my first go through college. And people say boys are gross...
Mom does this a lot around me. Remaining absolutely deadpan through most of my hysterics until I finally say or do one crazy thing too many and she has to cover her face and sigh.
I really did ask about "hazmat disposal" and "decon," by the way. I think I may have specified bleach when I asked about cleansers, though. Up side to all this is that when I was assigned that bathroom as the one I had to clean each week, I was *very* thorough.
Ha! Bet you didn't think I'd get another strip out so soon! Well, I diiiiid iiiiiit!
This is going to be a fun, if somewhat disgusting arc. All things considered, not having a fully functional sense of smell is probably a good thing. I'd never get some things cleaned otherwise. I'm not quite anosmic, since I can pick up a few (very strong) things in a vague sort of way. So the correct medical term would be hyposmia.
I don't think janitors (oh, we're supposed to call them custodians now?) get enough credit sometimes. We just take for granted all the stuff they have to put up with. Especially when children and teenagers are involved. Especially, teenagers. Somehow, they seem to be even messier than children. And then there are the adults who never seemed to grow out of leaving messes in their wake.
Sorry for the delay (again). Hopefully I'll be able to get my life in some semblance of order so I can return to a more stable schedule. (Or any kind of schedule.)
I'm Brigid, not my birth-name, but the one I chose for Confirmation. It's a Catholic thing. Want to learn more about how I grew up? Check out my semi-autobiographical webcomic, Mary Quite Contrary.
The closest I've come to earning a living as a writer is one summer I worked as a feature columnist for a small-town newspaper. I've been telling and writing stories my whole life, though, and, hey, it's something I enjoy. Whether I manage to make a buck at it isn't that important to me.