RIP to a true artist

Artists and their work, come and go.  TRUE artists and the work that gets produced from their heart and soul, last for eternity....

As many know already, a true artist with an amazing gift of creating and expressing their art has sadly passed away.  Amy Whinehouse.

Of all the artists that we have lost these past few years....this one has really made my heart sunk.  Despite, her troubled past, I really had MAD respect for this woman.  She was so unique.  She had so much soul.  And expressed her heart in such a way, nothing about her was fake.

Anyways....being that I'm blessed to be living in this beautiful country called England, and this same country birthed this woman and housed her....I was able to pay my respects to Miss Whinehouse in the best way I could.  In front of her house.

When I arrived, I was overwhelmed with all the love and support that was paid to her.

There were all kinds of momentos of Amy....newpapers....personal photos of her and the people who left them

There were fans blasting her music from their car, drinking drunk melodies of her amazing music....

 This was her actual house.  When I first saw it....I felt this darkened aura surround me.  It was such a weird feeling.  The house just expressed sadness and loss.

These drawings and photos were posted and left right in front of her front gate.  It was guarded by 2 security guards who only allowed you to cross if you asked for their permission or had something to leave there.  

People left the singer cans of beer and cider, books, 

tons of flowers, 

personal letters written to her, 

more cans of beer, drawings, collages, 

framed photos of her, 

more flowers, candles, it was insane.  Yet very touching.

There was even an Amy Whine house look-a-like.  I dunno, this BZ hit a bad nerve with me.  I felt as though she was disrespecting Amy.  When she was interviewing with these Croatian TV people, her "sadness" over the artist seemed so fake.  She was even trying to say that she was just like Amy Whinehouse.  How she felt as though she and her had a connection.  This connection was brought on by their similarities in looks, the fact this this broad liked jazz music, they had the same birth date, rubbish, rubbish, rubbish, fake, fake, fake.  I seriously wanted to cut that beehive off her head.  

Also, people were actually coming up to her taking pictures with her.  And although she at first looked too sad to take a picture with them, she managed to pose with her hand on her waist.  Whatevs.

Another thing that got me all grrrrrrr, was this guy in a wheelchair.  First of all, he was drunk.  Second of all, he was yelling that he was her friend.  AND he then tried is darndest to attract the Croatian TV people, so that they could interview him.  Then all of a sudden, as soon as that microphone was in front of his mouth.....robotic drunk tears started flowing and lies about him and his "good friend" Amy flowed out of his mouth.  Again.  Rubbish.

Anyways....

RIP Amy Whinehouse, your talent, your gift, your voice, and your music will truly be missed.....

I....Am....Spartan....

Guess what?  I'm still alive.  My husband's plan of trying to get me killed didn't fall through.  I survived the toughest obstacle ever, and I must say, I am pretty damn proud of myself.  I survived the Spartan Race.

Although I do have a MAJOR war wound, surrounded my little other ones, my heart is still beating, my blood is still flowing, and I'm still walking....just with a temporary pimp swag for now.  Whilst trying to complete an obstacle, which consisted of me carrying a car tire on my shoulder and walking up and down a hill three times, I lost footing during one of my journeys down the hill and my right knee decided to bend in a way that sprained the darn thing.  And being that it was only the second obstacle out of many more, and less than 20 minutes into the 5 mile race, I completed the sucker with a messed up knee, therefore messing it up even more.  Rwar!

Throughout this race, I had to tackle obstacles that involved the tire and hill gig that messed up my knee, crawling under barbed wire, carrying a bucket full of concrete, climbing 8 foot walls, jumping over fire, walking through a concrete tunnel that only allowed me to walk bent over for a 100 meters in pitch black.  I must say, that one was the worst.  I seriously almost had my first panic attack and felt claustrophobic for the first time.  Never again. Onwards, I walked through waist deep water that was cold like ice, crawled over a sandbox of ice, whilst have barbed wire over me, did pull ups, TRIED to climb a rope, get hit by 2 gladiators with jousters, and climb over a wobbly bridge of cases over ice cold water, and swim through that same water to the safety of land.

Here's a pic of that::
file:///Users/amylyngines/Desktop/CambSpartan2011%20photo%20gallery%20-%20Wobbly%20Bridge%20&%20Swim%20(Women)%20-%20a%20professional%20photo%20gallery%20powered%20by%20Photobox.webarchive


  I must apologize for the lack of photos of my experience.  Bringing a camera through water, and mud and what not wasn't safe for my electronic.

Anyways, if you found all that I described like good ol fashion fun, you are mental.  I kid, I kid.  But if you would like to join in on the next race....here's their website.
http://www.spartanrace.com/

I must say you do not leave empty handed, you do go home with a legit medal, and a cool t-shirt, and of course....war wounds like these

a super swollen knee....pretty

The other wifeys.....

As I am sitting here in my home, on my day off....this wifey can finally fixate a real smile on her customer service face.  In blunt terms, what I mean by that, is that I am finally free from being fake to annoying military wives that I encounter at work each day.  Sorry....but it's true.  Well.....85 percent of the time.

I mean, don't get me wrong, there are some military wives that are really cool and very laid back and easy to talk to.  BUT, you have another population of them who think that because their husbands are serving time for their country, and they won't have to work, and  live off the blood, sweat, and tears salary of their hubbies,  they feel it's right to act like they are Michelle Obama's BFF, and that no one can say anything mean to them because they are made out of gold or something.  But this is just my opinion.  I mean come on, my husband does the exact same thing as theirs, except he doesn't flirt or cheat with other women behind my back....jus sayen..... The tudes these wives exude towards me tend to hit that one nerve in my body that make my eyes want to do a 360.  I must say, trying to prevent my eyes from rolling when dealing with these type of ladies, must work my eye muscles to its max.

Again, before I get accused of talking shizz, (which I don't believe I am, it's the truth...and frankly the truth affects those only who are guilty of the matter) there are the wives that are normal.  The ones that act right, and treat other people with the respect they deserve, and who can hold decent convos with another.  I'm just targeting the ones that don't know how to treat the human race, who are annoying and superficial, and who are just spoiled and sheltered.

I love my jobs.  One is a one a day job working off base at a store name Boots.

 They have products sold around the world, I believe.  What my job entails is merchandising baby clothes for the line Miniclub.

Merchandising is my favorite, hence the job has become mine too.  Plus, I make scrilla in pounds.  That's a huge HOLLA in my mind.

My other job is at the Arts and Crafts center on Base.  Being that I love all things arts and crafts, I cannot help but love the environment I work at.  That is, until I have to deal with those "special" wifeys.   Now, I don't hate these ladies that come in, I just hate the way they go on about their lives.  I mean, coming in with the newest Coach purse from the BX (which, I might add is usually not up to date with the latest trends, just sayen....), or shopping with a bunch of other fellow housewives pushing strollers during a workday, does not make you high and mighty. Also, because you live in another country and knit or scrapbook all day, and have lunch with your girlfriends whilst other people work,  is no excuse to treat anyone like they are the bubble gum stuck under your shoe.

 First of all, a majority of these women that come in are usually in their early twenties who don't know any better, and are very sheltered from the world.  I kind of feel sorry for them for being so unexperienced and naive, but my sympathy soon vanishes when I hear all the, "well MY husband is a staff so and so, and I think I should receive better service," or all the gossiping and ish talking about other wives,  or if I don't get a "hello" in return after greeting them as nicely as I can.  Sorry, but if I don't get acknowledged for being nice, my bitch side immediately dominates my innocent looking face, and according to the hubby, it's not nice.

Another thing that pinches my annoyance nerve is some of the way these ladies treat their kids.  Now, I know I shouldn't be judging their parental skills, being that I am without child and all, but yelling at your kids from across the store whilst talking on your bluetooth is not classy.  Also, allowing your kids to play with fragile glass awards on display or thinking it's ok for them to empty out an entire tube of acrylic paint is not cute.  SMH.  Pure birth control.  Reals.

Anyways.....those are just a few opinions coming from my thoughtful mind.  I don't mean to offend anyone, I just hope that some of these wives that are guilty of some of these instances should maybe sit back and try to realize how you really are.  I mean, I'm sure deep down inside they may be a nice person....otherwise someone wouldn't have loved and married them, unless they did it for your "easy" going personality....only sayen....

Love thy Neighbors.....

I love England.  I love (most) English people.  I love my neighborhood.  I love my neighbors...

So, being that my Aimes Design business shizz has been doing pretty swell lately....(hence, the reason for my lack of blogging activity, http://www.etsy.com/shop/Aimes88, which I apologize for, and will seriously make up) my poor paper cutter's life has been slowly coming to an end.  So in replacement to my dying paper cutter, I did a Woody and Buzz Lightyear and upgraded my outdated cutter with a bigger and better one with better blades.  I.  LOVE. IT.  

Since I am no longer labeled as a housewife because I am with job, my house has transformed from 90% occupied, to 90% vacant.  Today was one of those days of the 90% vacant.  Usually, back in the states, when something was delivered to your house and you weren't home, you are usually given 2 notices that your item came.  After those 2 notices, you then receive a, "shit out of luck" note where you would have to drive to the nearest post office to pick up your package.  Not something that sounds very pleasing to your work tired body that still needs to run an errand before business hours are over.  But I'm just sayen...

Well....Because England is so wonderful, this is what they do.  If you are not home, and you have a package, the happy little mail man (who, btw, does not lazily drive around to each mail box, but who pushes a red cart to EACH and EVERY house to drop it into the door slot) leaves a nice little note saying that they have left your package with your neighbor.  And being that in my hood, all the English people are super friendly and shizz like that, they hold your package until you come by to pick it up, or if you haven't picked it up, they drop it off to you.  HOW.  FREAKIN. COOL. IS. THAT?  Very....I think.

So anyway, I just thought I'd share that little tidbit about English life with ya'll.  This whole event just blows my socks off my size 38 feet.  Holla!

Boys

I came across a picture of this little boy with so much swag, whilst eye shopping on various fashion blogs.

How cool is he????

Also....I came across another boy that exuded yumminess

He's actually not a boy.  He's a sexy, handsome, gorgeous piece of a man.  

Just thought I'd share these 2 pictures with you.  

My husband's trying to kill me

No....I didn't marry an Ax Murderer.  But I did marry a muscle man.  Therefore, involving me in various things that involve becoming fit.

Well....this morning, whilst I was peacefully making coffee and preparing my healthy little breakfast, I get a call from my firefighter.  He asks if I wanted to register for a marathon.  Me, being a virgin to the marathon world, and a naive little girl, I said yes.

I highly regret that answer.  I mean, I should have known what kind of marathon it was by just the name.  SPARTAN RACE.  "Spartan" should have been the giveaway.  I guess, with my current obsession with the TV show "Spartacus," anything to do with Roman warrior type characters didn't seem all that bad.  I was wrong.

After a whole day of work, and peaceful errands, I finally got to check out what this marathon was all about.  This is what I saw

http://www.spartanrace.com/

And This is how I will be looking like, but in a woman form during the race.

And I probably will be feeling like this at the finish line

After I watched that intimidating trailer, my legs went numb.  I already felt my back go out.  And my arms felt like spaghetti.  I mean, from going to no marathons, to doing a crazy one like this, it's like doing a Jon and Kate plus 8.  From no kids to a gazillion, and wearing yourself out.  No bueno.

I'm scared out of my mind.  I better survive.

Inspiration

So amazing....