#Joleen Rambles

[joleenjackalope]

So I have some Lenore thoughts, I like the idea of her a lot. But I don't think she's worth her price. So here are just some of my thoughts, as well as my doodling out some of those thoughts. I don't think she necessarily needs all these things, it's more that I let my internal rants about how she could be better guide me out of my art block these past couple days.

Part of why people pay more for collector dolls is because they have some type of attachment to them. Either being a Monster High character they already love, from an IP they love, or even the Off White had some brand recognition. (just not from me) And I felt like Lenore COULD have been the lady in white/weeping woman ghost story that just about every town has.

That being said- What is with the glitter tears?? If she had a unique sculpt that actually had a downturn on the brows and a sad face, and actually LOOKED like a weeping garden ghost, that alone would have made her more appealing!

Then why unpainted accessories? Why one big unpainted accessory her main focus? I like the vines (I didn't go very detailed here) but either paint them or make them smaller. (What I did) But if you want me to believe that the doll is WORTH $75 then you need to show that some actual care and effort went into her manufacturing and paint her damn accessories.

I just wanted an excuse to draw the spider. I don't like the human face but I only like a few of any of the MH pets anyway. so...

Put her damn hair up. Just like with the accessories, show me she is WORTH her price.

All of the above combined, the collector dolls stray further away from the High school aspect of MH and although Victorian/period fashion isn't necessarily my thing, I know a ton of collectors would have loved her looking like a ghost who's been haunting for a long time. And since she's not a character that's being portrayed in the high school - a collector doll would have been great! There's lots of adult/non-student characters.

Mini notes- I didn't draw patterns for her clothing, but the pattern on her dress as is would have still looked lovely on a bigger, fancier gown. I didn't do full body and I have no notes on shoes. They're not my specialty. And I would have appreciated her not having a full white sclera.

Also, line art for this piece is available here, tag me if you color it! I'd love to see. ♥♥♥

[joleen-the-jackalope]

This is my sweet spoiled Princess Polly Toad.

It's felt like everything in my life has gone to shit for a long time now. From people lost to tragedy, to the stress and struggles that seem to never end but somehow still manage to surprise me in getting worse.

But this chonkers little lady is one of the things that keeps me going. Like, I have other reasons, of course. But the impact Polly has had on me is so strong. She just feels right, yknow? Like when I had newts, that felt right. When I had snails, they were SO right for me and I miss having them so much. Polly has filled a pet ownership void in my heart.

Like, all the awful shit going on around me, I can forget about it for just a little bit when she wakes up in the evening and I just sit and watch her for a little bit before bed.

I wish I could tell her how important she is to me. and how much I love her.

[transsexual-dandelions]

Yes im about to cry in the middle of art

so what

[magdaclaire]

call me whenever you’d like

a continuation of this, as ellenmissouri is still eating my frontal lobe

There's a lot of reasons to hate the hunter community, all said. So many lives lost that Ellen couldn't count them all if she tried, names she doesn't even remember anymore that have passed through the doors of The Roadhouse since her daddy opened it all that time ago. It's dangerous work, and a callous memory to be lost to, a cause with no great end. It can wear a person right through.

Any reason to hate it, at least the Campbells still let her know when Mary passes away.

The idea of not knowing is something that could have kept her up at night for years, waiting for Mary's one more phone call, waiting to know if she was okay, if she was even alive (she isn't, she isn't, Mary's dead, and Ellen can barely feel her hands), she's glad Mary's brother took care of things. Body already burnt like any hunter, at least Mary got a gravestone. God above, Mary's boys. What'll happen to Mary's boys? Sure enough, Mary's husband- John, Noah, something biblical- would take care of them, raise them how Mary would've, but no one could do anything quite like Mary could.

Even dead, Ellen can't let her be anything less than perfect in her head. A girl made of fireflies. A mother in flames.

Ellen's chest hurts, feels fit to burst, but there's more to be done than just grieve. There always is. She grabs the phone off the hook and twists her fingers in the chord, dialing a number so familiar she doesn't even look at where it's carved into the wall above the phone anymore. Well, that's almost true. Something nervous in her always checks the last two digits, doesn't trust her head more than her eyes however that may be, but she punches it in accurate and accepts the long distance cost.

"Hello Ellen Joleen," Missouri says as soon as she picks up the phone. Ellen smiles for the first time all day. Missouri never checks before she leaps right in.

"Hey Miz," she says, the familiarity smoothing in a little levity despite it all. Despite the occasion. She climbs onto the counter beside the phone jack and leans her head back against the cabinet.

"Hey sweetheart. How you holding up?"

"Not that well, as it happens. I've... got something to tell you," she says, her lips pressed together like an envelope closing up her sentence, the tension across her shoulders enough to make her clench her teeth.

"I- I know, Ellen," Missouri says, and Ellen's eyebrows crease. Oh no, not...

"Oh, Miz." There are times when she hates the lot that Missouri was served in life, even as much as Missouri has told her that she wouldn't rather it go to somebody else. She closes her eyes, bites her lip. Readies herself. She isn't ready.

"She was wearing a nightgown, El- our Mary! A nightgown! And she was trying to protect her baby, El, she didn't have any weapons on her or anything, Mary," Missouri rambles, her voice slowing out to accommodate the pace of her tears. Mary Campbell, known to have at least two guns and two knives besides, holy water coming off of her by the gallon, their Mary, died empty handed. Died protecting her child without anything to protect him with. A demon death nearly a decade after she had gotten out. Ellen catches her temple on the door handle of the cabinet, but strange enough, it doesn't feel like it matters much. And Missouri had to see that.

"Oh honey." Ellen means to say more, but Missouri. But Missouri.

"And there was no one to tell! Couldn't warn her civilian husband, couldn't call you, have you stuck in the same vicious waiting period I always am, just telling people that horrible things are going to happen and never being able to stop what I see. I saw her, Ellen. On that ceiling. On fire. Bleeding." Missouri's voice is thin, reedy, makes Ellen want to hold her fingers between her own, feel Missouri's heartbeat in her palms. Make sure she felt her there too. 

"And you were alone with it. And I never want you to be again, alright? Missouri Rose, you call me if you see something you don't need to bear alone. You shouldn't have had to hold that by yourself, now. I'm here. Lean on me, darlin'," she requests, her face unconsciously tilted up, her socked feet knocking slightly against the wooden base of the counter. They don't have Mary any longer, so much as they even had Mary in the last few years at all. What she knows is that she's going to do whatever she can to make things easier for Missouri. Whatever Missouri will let her.

"And what? Call you every time I see something? Bother you every day with my most innocuous visions of what might happen, even if it's not important? I could waste a lot of your time like that," Missouri says, the purse of her mouth clear as day through the sound of her voice, and Ellen loves knowing someone so well. A few more phone calls from Missouri Moseley certainly wouldn't run amiss around here. 

"If that's what it takes? Missouri, you can call me whenever you'd like. Day, night, in the small gray hours of the morning, doesn't matter much to me. I'm never gonna turn you away, okay? I'll always believe you. You know that, right?" she asks, making her voice a little harsher, rougher, her meanness coming out a little through her nose. It always gets her when they do this. Try to take everything on by themselves. Missouri and Mary used to do it both. Just because she doesn't get active in the hunting scene much anymore since her knee got blown out doesn't mean she can't do the work.

"I- Of course, El. Of course I know that. Believing me doesn't always mean you wanna hear every single vision, though, does it?" There's a sarcastic lilt to her voice, as if Ellen is doing something terribly naive again. She doesn't care. What's naivety in a world like this?

"Maybe I just think you deserve to be heard. To talk about it. I can help, Miz. Let me help," she requests, throwing it out as her last ditch effort into coaxing Missouri into allowing Ellen to help to carry some of the load. Missouri gives her a disapproving tut, only a little bit tinged by her sadness.

"Now, you're not playing fair, Ellen Joleen," she says, sniffling just a bit. What Ellen wouldn't give to hold her. To see her. They've only met in person twice, but Ellen doesn't think there's anything she wouldn't do for this girl. It's the least she deserves.

"Life hasn't been fair to you, Miz. I'm setting out on evening scores," Ellen says, her voice barely more than a whisper, the receiver pressed so hard against her jaw that it'll hurt if she keeps leaving it like this. Her good leg is pulled up on the counter with her, her bum knee left extended so it can get a little rest. There's hair coming out of her ponytail. She's not paying any mind to any of it.

"Eventually, I will see something that hurts you again," Missouri reminds her, her voice harder again. She's building her resolve to argue her way out of this again. Ellen frowns.

"And I won't blame you then, either, sweetheart, what are you worried about? What are you afraid of?"

"All of it, Ellen! I'm afraid of seeing more people die and I'm afraid of telling you about it. I'm afraid that I'll see so much death that one day it will suck every modicum of life out of me, and I'm afraid that one day, you'll notice that it's doing that too. I'm afraid that I will have this, I will have you, and then I won't, El. What if this is what makes you tired of the future? Tired of-"

"Tired of you?" Ellen asks, not wanting to let Missouri work herself to any more of a fit than she was already.

"Tired of me," Missouri confirms, steady and hollow. Scared, but sure.

"And what if I don't, Miz?"

"What if you don't?"

"What if I never get tired of you? What if I want you to share everything that fucks you up? What if I don't want you to be alone? What if I want to be the one that's with you? What if I never want us to stop calling each other and talking? What if I wanna know it all?"

"Then one day, I'll lose you too. You'll die, Ellen. And I'll see it. And I won't be able to stop it."

"So you never want to have me at all? Five, ten, twenty, hell, maybe thirty years of this, of us, we could have that, and you're willing to miss out because you don't wanna lose me? Miz, I'll die either way, baby. You'll die either way. You decide when the grief hits. We've already lost Mary," she says, and the wound is somewhere deep within her that might never heal, but different, maybe, then it wouldn't have been if they had been close in the years before Mary's death. Mary had called her every now and again, of course, but not nearly so often as Missouri has in the last years. There's a metallic sound on the other side of the line.

"You're not pulling any punches today, my dear," Missouri says, and Ellen can hear her pull on a cigarette. Missouri smokes inside often enough Ellen could recognize the sound anywhere. She hits her head back against the cabinet again.

"I'm trying to convince you to let me help take care of you. In what world would this be the battle I chose to begin pulling my punches during, babe?" she asks, wishing a little bit that she had a cigarette of her own, but she's trying not to smoke inside anymore. At least not in the kitchen. Makes the food taste weird.

"I am ill equipped for logic right now, Ellen, dear. Perhaps try again next time." Ellen raises a brow.

"So you will be calling next time then?" she drills in, unable to let it go when she knows that her friend, her Missouri, is hurting. She can't let her keep thinking it's alright that she does it alone.

"Well, I would hate to disappoint, wouldn't I?" Missouri teases, sounding all buttoned back up and presentable, and sharp edged Missouri Rose Moseley, perfect and pressed and nothing less than impressive. Ellen smiles despite it all.

"And so you would. You gonna be okay, sweetheart?" she asks, just one last time. Never can be too sure. Missouri chuckles.

"I always am, dear. I'll call you soon?" she asks. Ellen nods, even if Missouri can't see it.

"I'll pick up."

[kaimuki]

I’d like to share something I wrote in high school; this was about two months before graduation --I was eighteen years old. I found it a very pleasant read. I posted it on my first Tumblr that I deleted before starting college, and it was in a response to an anonymous request to write about anyone that I’ve met. I hope you enjoy. 

Title: Without You, It’s a Waste of Time [A/N: Strawberry Swing by Coldplay.]

Epigraph: I can’t describe to you how surprised I was to find out I loved her. I even hoped for a while that she’d throw me over, but she didn’t, because she was in love with me too. [A/N: I loved The Great Gatsby. I still do.]

Through the darkness, I found myself lying in a bed next to L watching a marathon of really bad horror movies. I should have known it then, that he was changing my life by just spending time with me, but being around L wiped out every pretentious, presumptuous, and pensive ramblings in my mind, left every thought train wrecked resting in peace; I think that’s why it’s so hard for me to write about him now. [A/N: Back then I knew I was pretentious.]

There are two different types of meeting people. One, we physically meet them. We get introduced by mutual friends, family, or we happen to be in the same place and time. We meet people like this all the time, almost every day in fact. Everywhere we go we expect to meet people because, well, the world is full of them. We can’t avoid each other for too long. However, that is not the question.

Have I ever met anyone? truly, unexpectedly, surprisingly? Two, to discover a spirit within a human body, to stumble across the gem of a soul, this type of meeting someone is special. I’ve only done this a few times… and especially with L. [A/N: Drinking game! Take a shot every time I use tricolon! Two down!]

He never wore any fancy clothes, just stuff he thought was cool, stuff really subtle that worked well together; sweatshirts, t-shirts, and jeans, you already know. This made him approachable. He had normal hair, normal shoes, normal things. The idea of normal motivated L, called L to prove himself someone worth knowing. He was funny when he wanted to be; talented without a doubt, and in the looks department, he had something going for him. He had a killer smile when he did show it, a nice voice when he wasn’t quiet. [A/N: Four!]

L was the type of guy who gets under your skin without trying, without even intending to. There was something about him people noticed, something that polarized them to either being insanely intrigued by L or insanely irritated. He never realized this. He was always confused as to why people came and went so quickly. You see, he was easy to judge. People wanted to know what made him tick. They would get close, and after they figured it all out, they left. He was hard to see, hard to read, but easy to talk to and even easier to talk about. 

The majority of the time I was around this guy I never really paid any attention to him until we were in close quarters: one, same place, same time. We were sitting next to each other on a bus. He didn’t say much besides the usual exchange in a first conversation, but he offered an ear bud so we could both listen to Kevin Hart’s A Grown Little Man, which I loved. Swinging. I was intrigued, and I didn’t even know it. We exchanged numbers casually, hung out casually, laughed, ate, talked together so casually. We would get into fun, get into trouble together a lot too. Everything with him was so natural. I found myself thinking about him a lot, more and more as I got to know him. Our bus got into a crash that. Everyone was okay. It just gave us more time to pass. [A/N: I actually think I intentionally did not complete that sentence. For reasons.]

Know it wasn’t the relationship. It was never about that. As much as what we were mattered to other people, the idea of “we” was nothing between us. In my mind, he was just L. In his mind, I was just me. I believe this because when it ended, we both didn’t want it to, whatever it was. It was all the little moments we shared, the unconscious breaths and airs we exchanged, the electric touches between our skin that slipped under our awareness, that made up the fibers that connected our heartstrings. It was all those things we would never pass up that stood for something greater than just a collection of memories, a scrapbook of interactions. I don’t know what you could define that as. [A/N: Some of it is cringey. I forgive myself for it though. You don't have to. Five, by the way.]

The Haunting In Connecticut had been over for more than an hour then. It must’ve been some time between 2 and 3am. Mary and Isaiah were asleep next to us, and Chris had knocked out before Texas Chainsaw Massacre even started. I was laying down with my head on L’s chest, feeling much more comfortable, safe, warm with him than with Isaiah, (shots fired,) and we just talked. It had probably been the sixth time we talked about our favorite colors, (mine blue and his olive green,) the second time we talked about bad things, and the first time we ever talked about living. L told me about all the things he wanted to do with his life: go to college, win sports competitions, travel across the universe. He talked about the things that made him sad like whenever his dad leaves, happy like when he gets to tease Nick and Mars, the things that scared him like people getting to know him too well. He talked about what he thought the world outside of this bubble was going to be like. There must be bubbles everywhere. He told me everything, and I listened. While he talked, his finger traced the lines of my hand. The other reached into the darkness of the room, reached through empty lightless space ad sidera, ad astra. He finished, stopped, and breathed for a little bit. I still listened. [A/N: Ten? Maybe my definition for tricolon is wrong. This seems like too much. L said that thing in italics, by the way.]

Inhale. Exhale, deeply and smoothly. Then he says something I would never forget:

This is it.  What? This is what I want. I want this forever. 

I didn’t ask because I already knew. It’s nice, you know? to have L to talk to; for L to have me to listen because I just want to get to know him, because I like his voice, for the sake of listening; I had L to laugh with, adventure with, to hold hands with and walk under his arm. I had L who didn’t care what I looked like when I ate barbecue or when I bummed around at home; just to have had L, to whom the most important thing is that I felt good, content, and happy, was something all on its own. [A/N: I'm not counting anymore. I refuse to.]

I’ll step back for a second to take a look at this story with you. It doesn’t sound special, does it? When hopes turn into dreams and dreams turn into visions when you close your eyes, you see this and know it inside and out. You know that when he leaves he kisses you on the forehead, tells you he’ll be back again for tea, that he’ll never forget you and that you’ll always be his girl. Because you see it in the movies, in all of those shows, you might be even blessed to have experienced it before, the amazing kiss from his perfect lips, so soft so gentle and everything you imagined it would be, you know exactly what that feels like. Maybe you won’t believe me when I say this was something different and every time it will be something different, but I don’t care if you believe me or not. This is the best way I can tell it.

L and I wanted each other, didn’t know we’d need each other; L and I had each other, even though we didn’t deserve each other. People are gifts, miracles sometimes. When you have someone you want, someone you didn’t know you’d need, when you’re blessed with the presence of someone you didn’t deserve, it feels like the world will give you a break sometimes. When it’s someone else’s choice, to choose you to make happy, to choose you and not Stella, Joleen, or Kaitlin, to not choose Jack or Isaiah, it’s a break. I can believe that now. [A/N: Aliases.]

When it was over, I began to believe in something else:

1. The real good things in life could never be planned or expected. 2. As much as it is about loving someone, it is about being loved.

It ended too soon, too early, but I’m okay with that. Here’s where I meet him: my heart and the spaces in between are painted with my imagination of everything that it was, everything that it could be, before any of it could have gotten spoiled. Who I am now and what I believe gives a part to L. I never got to thank him for that, but the memories should suffice. It’s about hope and faith in fate and love, in the world I guess. There is always a today, a tonight. 

We all think of each other, you know.

[A/N: I used to think I had to fight for the real good things in life. I thought I had to fight for love, happiness, and peace. I did. I realized I could do that, easily, in fact, but the love, happiness, or peace that I fought for never meant so much or felt as good as the gifts I were graced with. Serendipity, is that the word I'm looking for? 

I wrote this about a year after meeting L. I published it on April 1st, 2012 at 11:11P.M. because that was my sense of humor. I can't take all this seriously, because I knew nothing in life ever truly means anything, but it was also a wish. That life and its experiences were important. Real. Something. You know? Ah, forget about it.

Anyway, thanks for reading. Feel free to ask me questions about it.]

[joleen-the-jackalope]

Had my niece (4yo) in my office very briefly yesterday, and I handed her a (g3) Draculaura to play with and immediately she was like “I need the yellow one- they need to get married” while pointing to Sunny Madison.

So yeah, new ship is sailing I guess, expect fan art at some point.

[joleenjackalope]

Zooming into my own art on my computer to admire my own details. 🥰

[joleen-the-jackalope]

old old picture of my doll collection cause I miss them. :(

[joleen-the-jackalope]

Sooo tomorrow (Saturday) is my birthday, and it'd be real cool if ya wanted to share my KoFi link? Maybe pick up a pwyw coloring page? leave a tip + a drawing request? It'd be a sweet gift ♥

[joleen-the-jackalope]

Had lots of tests done on me today.

Thyroid is bad, knew that. Not really surprised how bad (only one small nodule on it, so could be worse). Can be worked on. And my suspected insulin resistance was correct.

Surprised to find out that my neck curve is...not curved. It's straight and likely the main cause of ALL my neck/shoulder/back pain for over 15 years. Also, mild scoliosis mid-back, bone spurs all through my spine and some degenerative disc disease.

I am exhausted.

[joleenjackalope]

Ahhh, Hey it’s my face and a few of the faces I drew this year.

[joleen-the-jackalope]

Boyfriend found a small tote full of Barbie furniture + Barbie camper and yacht for $10 at a Yard sale, and I am shaking in excitement for him to come home so I can go through it.

[joleen-the-jackalope]

Haven’t talked much about working on this, the first print (pictured) was so bad, I did the supports wrong and taking them off broke just about every piece of the walker. Then I glued the pieces back together, which resulted in many small cuts on my hands as well as gluing several fingies together.

So I’m gonna need to work on it a bit, but when it’s all ready, I will be offering them on my kofi for different doll sizes. (Made to order) 😁

[joleen-the-jackalope]

I know we all like toads here, so here’s my spoilt little princess, Polly.

[joleen-the-jackalope]

For those who followed me for it, I am still planning/working on miniature animal skulls.

Here’s a horse (those are quarters next to it) it’s pretty detailed I just don’t have it in me to take good pics at the moment 😵‍💫

[joleen-the-jackalope]

Test printing my first animal skulls! Exciiiited!

Cat, Raven, Wolf & Horse