Fruit Flies are the Young, Gay Twinks of the Bug World

The creative process is hard, and I feel like everyone talks about it like it’s this elusive, sexy, ever-evolving, ah-MAZE-ing thing that creative thinkers and doers are happy to be at the mercy of. They all guffaw at how sometimes she’s a pesky bitch and how they have to coax her out of her shell, like a terrified, tiny deer. HOW CUTE they all say. Don’t worry she’ll come eventually… they say. I have a different relationship with my creative process whereby I curse the fact that I’m not brimming with visceral inspiration 100% of the time, and just drink litres of coffee hoping that out of my vibrating body something worth writing down will come. So far I’ve got homosexual bees and household decor that makes me feel uncomfortable.

Like why do people decorate with those multicoloured, multi-textured balls that just sit together in a bowl or on a fancy plate, mocking me with their uselessness. I told my husband that maybe we need some useless decor like vases with nothing in them and peculiar balls on the table to be more adult-like, and he suggested I might spend my money on something better like shoes without holes in them. He doesn’t get it obviously. 

Oh Sharon have you seen my new balls I bought from Winners for $13 a piece? I know what a deal right? Jim says later he might let me put one up his butt hole I’m very excited.

So I just thought I’d let you guys in on what I do to produce the sheer genius that I call my writings. And if you just guffawed and my incorrect use of the word genius, look it up, asshole. Today I got off work at like 11:30, because I’m a degenerate and I don’t believe in working a full, 8-hour day. Who does that? People that clearly want to get ahead in the world. I clearly want to sit on my ass and laugh at my own brilliance all day. The Bloggess said in her book that she thinks she might have been a statue in a previous life because she’s so good at sitting and doing nothing, and I’ve never felt more akin to another human being. Where was I? Oh right, I got home at 11:30. Fuck that still makes me laugh. I still feel sometimes guilty about being the worst person, so I have to earn my sitting around time. So I made a bunch of phone calls and stood in my kitchen in my underwear making coffee while I was on hold with the insurance guy, acting like I was on some super serious conference call with my headset in and everything. It wasn’t serious, but managing to change my address at least once today counted at productivity. Now I earned the right to sit down and try to figure out what this weeks blog post was going to be about. Enter the sitting and staring period of the creative process that often becomes the entire creative process.


I read somewhere that if you take pictures of your face in various facial expressions that you could study them and learn how to draw cartoon faces better. This obviously spiralled completely out of control, and I endeavoured to create a face series. It’ll be called Uselessness: A Series of My Face 300 Times With Really No Purpose.

If you’re confused, that’s a wool ear warmer on top of my head in the bottom left. And yes, that water bottle is FULL of water. How multi-functional is my head? I’m super impressed. After spending a while studying my own face in photos for way to long, I ended up with this photo series that accurately depicts like the #real #fuckin’ #struggle. LEFT TO RIGHT PEOPLE THIS ISN’T JAPAN DON’T E-MAIL ME CONFUSED.

Looking quizzical like I’m onto something, starting to lose it, fully lost it, and now we’re at the bottom right, not surprised. 

It’s also becoming apparently to me that my glasses might be too big for my face? I kind of look like I need laser eye surgery because my broken ass eyes literally can’t even.

Why is the fruit fly issue like SO severe. Are they considered an invasive species? If they were even slightly bigger I’d take great joy in ripping their stupid little wings off and feeding it to their babies. WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS HOVERING AWKWARDLY RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY FACE? OR ARE YOU IN FRONT OF MY FACE? MY EYES CAN’T ADJUST FUCK. I threw everything out, CLEANED every dirty dish, and sanitized the fuck out of my counters and they’re still lingering around like they’re waiting for the gay club to open so they all can have sex with each other. Fuck you fruit flies. 

If you’re wondering where I was headed in regards to a homosexual bee and why it would possibly be relevant. (Yes, a bumble bee) Here’s your answer: I just think it would be completely awe-inspiring if I did a comic about a bee named Barry, who falls in love with another bee named Larry. Now, Larry is still deep in the closet which is very different from our openly gay and outrageously fabulous, Barry. It’s all very tense as you can imagine and will be riveting entertainment. If I ever manage to do that. I’m still trying to sort out in my brain how to draw a jacket for my gay bee Larry. It’s seems hard, and awkward. I haven’t tried yet but I’ll let you know.

It turned out just as horribly as I fully expected. How great is that bee/cloud/gender confused pig? Oh god. Also the letters on his body are to INDICATE what colour he should be. ROYGBIV. ‘CAUSE HE’S GAY REMEMBER? 

Side note: It’s also snowing today for the first time in the season and during the first snowfall every person behind the wheel of a car all of a sudden like, forgets what snow is and how to drive in it. I’ve drawn something horrible for that as well. Don’t you guys love me?

If you can’t decipher my slop writing, that sounds like a personal problem.

As a final effort to make this blog post not even remotely cohesive, I’m going to pull a word from my word jar and write something inane about it. If you don’t know what my word jar is, HAVE YOU EVEN REALLY LIVED? (It’s just a jar with words on pieces of paper, it’s really just a writing prompt that I never use, and it’s really the cutest thing ever.)

Say hi to the word jar. It’s colourful and vaguely smells of plastic butt holes. 

So I stuck my hand in the giant opening (tee hee) and twirled it around and pulled out our word for today… ENTER …


This one time when I wasn’t entirely sober, the very hilarious husband of my good friend kept referring to hallways as ‘Breeze-ways’ during a story that otherwise would have been completely forgettable and it’s stuck with me ever since. Is there a less sexy word than hallways? Nope. Is there a sexier word than ‘breeze-ways’? NOPE.

You made it. Congratulations. I hope you don’t fully hate yourself because you spent however much time it takes you to read, reading this. If it helps I love that you got to this part. Oh and, don’t worry – we’ll all go to group therapy together.


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