Ok, so he’s not my boyfriend, but he is fat.  Yes I went to meet him, Mr. New Week New Guy, guy. Yes I broke my cardinal rule and drove to Orange County, again. I had no expectations. Why? Because I figured he was hugely over weight or limbless or both, and had assured myself if that were the case I’d have a cordial evening with him, break up our phone sex relationship on the spot, and call it a night. I ditched work and hit the 5 freeway yesterday afternoon around 3.

We met in the parking lot of his vets office. Nothing like a dogs skin disorder to break the ice. He drove an BMW, had a full head of black hair, and somewhere in there, beneath the heavy neck and double chins, was a very handsome man. He smiled at me as he pulled at the zip of his black hoodie that fit too tightly around his rotund belly.

The vet visit was quick. After, he showed me around downtown Laguna Beach; we watched a burnt orange sunset from the end of his suburban beach street through a pair of quintessential California palm trees.

What can I say except that I am confused? I like everything about this guy except that he is fatter than I care to describe.  Not big enough for the Biggest Loser, but not too far off I’d have to say.  What do you do when you love a guys brain, he makes you laugh till you pee, he surfs, he talks smart Dirty, you know he has an 8 inch penis (cause you’ve seen it in photos) but the last thing in the world you want to do is take his clothes off?  Oh lordy lord, it’s a quandary.

We had a lovely night of sushi, frozen yogurt and walking.  Two hours after our sushi he was hungry again. [Insert African American female voice here and read "oh no he ditn't".]  Oh, yes he did. We went to a bar, he ordered a hamburger, I ordered a drink. Oy. But he ate his food in a well-mannered, non pig like way – placing his napkin on his lap, cutting his burger in two. He did not speak with his mouth full and through painfully true antidotes revealing a rags to riches and back again life style continued to make me laugh. He’d been hugely successful in the restaurant business, had owned four houses, flew around in private jets but had invested his fortune with Bernie Maddoff and since lost it all. He hasn’t always been fat. And no, I can’t make this shit up. With each polite bite I tried to figure out this strange brain/heart juxtaposition that tugged at my internal organs.  Yes I liked him, and was attracted to him, no I didn’t want to fuck him.

So, the end of the night comes, we’re leaning on the hood of my car. He yanks at the back of my hair in a forceful, sexy, dominant way, then puts his lips to mine. Without warning my breath shoots out from under me, I involuntarily gasp, opening my mouth like a baby chick searching her mother’s throat for sustenance. My eyes rolled to the back of my head, my mind soared… I devoured him.

I drove away happy not to have gone further than the hair pulling, breath-taking kiss. Concerned that he was way more enamoured than I was –  and judging by today’s texts, my instincts seem correct… but got to say, each one liner that comes in, I return with gusto and a smile.

I am facing some rather substantial demons here.

Just when you think you have it all figured out a fat guy comes along and takes your breath away.  Fat?  I don’t do fat.

Just sayin’.

Why do so many women (about 80% according to some studies) wear a bra that doesn’t fit? This is something that has always baffled me. Some I constantly have to fight the urge to go and tell random women that their bra doesn’t fit. I wonder if it would be more or less rude if I used these notes…

When I was 13 my boobs decided to make themselves appear pretty much out of thin air. I don’t remember going to buy my first bra or anything but I do remember jumping straight to B-cup (a size I should have realized to move on from way earlier than I actually did). The next three years can not really be described as fun. I was teased, by my so-called friends, as my bra didn’t quite fit and I was bigger than them (say it together now: jealousy). But at the time I didn’t know any better and I’ve inherited my breasts from my dad’s side so my mom was no use at all. As my boobs just kept on growing I eventually got fitted and into the habit of buying really good bras (which, especially in my current size, are a bit more expensive and hard to find — Change has some really good ones).

So, if you’re still a teenager and your body is constantly changing, I can understand that sometimes the bra just doesn’t fit. But grown women wearing ill-fitting bras should be made illegal. If it feels like everything wobbles too much when you walk chances are your bra is the wrong size. If you are constantly tightening the straps and the back of your bra is higher than the front your cup is too small and the band is too big.

So, if you are reading this and are uncertain whether or not your bra fits properly, go to a lingerie store or department and get yourself fitted. If you (for some reason) don’t like strangers seeing you without your shirt on, this is the way to measure it. The sizes in Europe and the US go differently, so here you can see a comparison of them.

There’s a reason they’re called love lumps — so love them and threat them accordingly!

Alex claimed to be 5′10″. Despite my Jimmy Choos putting me at 6′3″ I decided to go for it. The idea of this handsome Argentinian – shorter, but broad-shouldered, six packed and fully coiffed, was sexy as hell. His online profile pronounced him as an “athletic go-getter”; he utilized spell check and was conversant in the hows and whys of “your” or “you’re”. That’s all it really takes these days. Sad.

We exchanged phone numbers.

I was on the freeway when he called. My heart knocked at my chest as I read the display. He sounded way more east-coast than South American and unfortunately his intonations and general nervous-cliche-infused chitchat indicated he was not going to be my knight in shining armor after all. Despite previously learned lessons from previously disastrous internet dates, I chose to mute my instinctual banter.

We made plans for Saturday night.

I’d had a huge day, ran 13 miles in the early morning then headed straight to a client’s house to talk flocked-wallpaper, autumnal paint hues and Moroccan fabrics. I learned from texts throughout the meeting that he’d made an 8pm reservation for us at his friend’s Beverly Hills Japanese restaurant. Clearly I was excited – an upscale dinner date a welcome change from my usual biking, surfing or beer drinking dates – I announced to my client that I was going out with a man I’d never met. I divulged that regardless of him being shorter than me I was planning on wearing heels. Her smiley, excited face paused, twisted and stared up at mine.  ”Don’t. Wear. Heels.”

I’d eaten next to nothing all day and had barely enough time to get home, shower and don a rockin’ outfit featuring tight black jeans, an orange make-my-boobs-look-amazing bra and the afore-mentioned four inches of Jimmy Choo before jumping in my (very dirty) Subaru and driving West.

Although he’d originally told me we had a reservation at 8, it mysteriously changed to 7.30.  I was to call him at around 7, when I neared the restaurant.

“I’m a few minutes away.”

“Already?”

“Yes, it’s almost 7.”

“I thought we said 7.30.”

Not allowing his numerically challenged demeanor to put me off, I valet-ed my car, stepped out and – way above – the five-foot-nothing valet attendants, and sauntered into the designer-y Japanese restaurant as if I owned it. Greeted with the usual chorus of Japanese pleasantries and bows, I returned them with smiles and head bobs, and perched myself on a stool at the lacquered tree slab bar. I was the only patron in the place.

I was swirling the ice at the bottom of my water glass when I heard him arrive.

Oh God. Broad shoulders and a six pack? Ha, my ass.

Barely taller than the Japanese hostess, he was about as exotic as a nine-year old labrador, and as knight-like as Woody Allen in a rain storm. Wow. Quick. Think. I debated the two possible scenarios. One – stand and get the awkward lean-down-and-hug-him moment over with, or two – stay seated and deal with the reality on the way to the table. I went with door number one.

“You are tall.”

No shit Sherlock!

He ordered us a drink.

Suddenly very aware that his cover had been blown, that he looked nothing like his photos and stood no where near his profiled height, he rocked back and forth on his bar stool repeating “oh Nelly” under his breath. (No I am not kidding). He tried to describe the south moving traffic he’d encountered on La Cienega Blvd – like I gave a fuck. I stabbed at the ice at the bottom of my drink with my straw as we discussed real estate, mortgage rates and the down-swing in the US economy. He explained that he was in fact part Polish, part Argentinian, which accounted for what I’d mistook as an “east-coast” accent, and his appearing more like a poster child for J-Date than Plenty of Fish. His hands were tiny and scary. I curled my fingers under themselves, alarmingly aware that his entire hand could fit in my palm. I did not dare look at his feet.

I mentioned my looking forward to dinner (’cause I was insanely hungry) to which he replied, “Dinner? Oh I didn’t think we were eating.” Confused, but relieved in a what-the-hell-were-we-going-to-talk-about-anyway  kind of a way I didn’t bother bringing out my phone with the textual evidence of a dinner reservation at 8.00.

WTF?

A twangy Japanese soundtrack drifted towards a carved bamboo awning above our heads. Alex’s single button gray suit and white dress shirt discordantly contrasted my asymmetrical hair cut and heavy silver necklaces. My attempts at charming and witty conversation felt cheap and escort-like.  Half way through vodka-soda #2 I found my courage.

“Lets call a spade a spade here Alex, this,” I traced an imaginary circle in the space between us, “you and I, not happening,right?”

On that note, like a couple of synchronized swimmers from an Ester Williams extravaganza, in unison we looked away, stared at the mirrored shelving behind the bartender and sipped not once, but twice, on our drinks.

“I made a huge boo-boo tonight.” He rocked forward on his stool. “Oh Nelly.”

“What did you do Alex?” I pried. “Double book?” I was kidding.

Turns out he had.  In fact not only double booked but triple booked.  He had me at 7.00, 7.30 or what ever it was, then “suburban soccer mom” at 9.00 (across town) and an “older Raquel Welsh type” after that. Clearly he was having trouble keeping track of who he told what to. It was all making sense now. But please, the man was no prize.

As chance would have it, once the “beans were spilled”, his “boo-boo” admitted, we actually had ten minutes of fun. We laughed and shared a few bad dating stories (if only he knew I was already mentally scribing this one). He’s not a guy I’d hang out with, we do not have a thing in common, but meeting these strangers, these men I’d not sit down with in my regular life, is compelling to say the least. Weird, uncomfortable, painful, but compelling. I learn a little more about human kind with each one; and a little more about me.

Jimmy and I walked my date to the parking lot. As the attendant drove up in his white Audi Alex stood on his tip toes lifting his small hands up for a hug – to which, I must admit, I stepped into and returned with a smile.

Unforgivable? Perhaps.  But bottom line, he’s just another clueless male who has no idea how few clues go by without our noticing them.  Nothing to get angry at, ’cause hey, he’s not a bad guy and despite my leaving the restaurant hungry I did get a funny story out of the deal.

He’s texted me every day since.

Clueless!

So, I had this post all planned out where I was going to write about being single, not having been kissed in the past two and a half years and such. From that you can see that I’ve had quite a dry spell (three and a half years to be precise). I had all these things in mind, from being frustrated and annoyed with it, lonely at times but liking the independence. Now that I think about it that would have probably turned out be some what of a depressing post.

Anyways, that whole plan went to the dump this past weekend when I apparently decided to have my very first one-night stand. Well actually it just sort of happened; I didn’t plan for it to happen, couldn’t have, even if I would have tried as I am terrible at flirting – just plain awful. But apparently a smile and some eye contact (nothing new there) go a long way (and feeling good in your own skin never hurts).

I’ve always thought (and told a lot of people as at least a partial reason for my dry spell) that one-night-stands aren’t in my nature; that I wouldn’t be able to go through with it and though they were a complete waste of time and energy as I wouldn’t be able to relax enough to actually enjoy it. Clearly, I was wrong (partly at least). Though I think they can be a lot of fun, one shouldn’t go in expecting much (especially expecting to be completely satisfied will very likely result in disappointment; like singing a duet – it’s hard to get it just right the first time). So hope for the best, but expect the worst (but then that’s true for pretty much everything).

The whole situation felt a bit weird after such a long time (by yourself you get used to things going a certain way). I had trouble shutting my brain down. And it didn’t help at all when I found out that the guy was (and still is) three years younger than I (I would prefer it to be the other way around). I feel like such a cradle robber, oh well; at least we were born in the same decade (barely but still).

It might have had something to do with me being in my head too much (as usual), but expecting the worst paid off. I don’t mean to be mean but if you are given a free lesson (or at least some guidance) you might want to take the hint (especially when the hint is as subtle as “do this now”). Is that so much to ask? But then those things can be learned. Practice makes perfect and so on. Genes, however, you’re stuck with.

There has always been a lot of talk abut size. The politically correct answer to this subject would be “no, it does not matter”, but hell yeah it does! It’s like a puzzle: you want to find the right fit. Of course, in the end it’s about whether or not you know what you’re doing and making the best out of what you’ve been given. And that’s true for both sexes. People seem to every now and again forget that it is a two-way street and guys end up getting the blame.

I’m clearly not an expert on the subject. There’s only so much I can say from experience (the longer it has been the less you remember – I had totally forgotten for example how much I love kissing). As a result of my dry spell, I read a lot of books on the subject (I love Belle de Jour’s books and just finished one on the history of the Kama Sutra) so at least it has in a way been fresh in my mind (not that I have needed the books that much, eventually your brain just goes into overdrive).

On Sunday I had some trouble wrapping my brain around what had just happened. I didn’t regret it and still don’t. It’s just that finding out something new about yourself can take some getting used to. So, tired and trying to avoid school work (which I finally finished with three minutes to spare), I spend most of the day on the Internet and found this. Reading through it, I realized that I had followed pretty much none of those rules (the only exception was the part on safe sex). But anyways, I lucked out as neither of us wanted it to be anything more than it was (the age difference bothers me way too much for him to be a boyfriend candidate). Those conversations the etiquette suggests to have might be awkward to start/have but in the end I think they’ll pay off.

It’s not often I’m jealous of PS3 owners. The majority of current gen games that I’m interested in end up landing on the 360 or the Wii. But there is a small handful of games I’d like to pay, but not at the steep price of 300 bucks. Flower, Little Big Planet, and the Ratchet and Clank Future trilogy, of which the third game comes out this week. I’m a giant Ratchet and Clank fan. The whimsical sci-fi setting is right up my space alley. With all the talk about the new game I’m starting to get the Ratchet and Clank bug. Since I don’t have a PS THREE I went with the next best thing… the PSP (it’s quick wit like this that keeps you coming back everyday. I know it).

I picked up Size Matters a few years ago after another bout of Ratchet-and-Clank-itus. I had just played through all the PS2 games and was jonesing for more. But the downgrades necessary to make the Ratchet and Clank work on the PSP left the game feeling thin and I gave up on it before getting really deeply into it. This time I decided to skip replaying the original games in favor of something new. Approaching Size Matters on its own terms reveals it to be a nice little game in its own right.

So much that makes Ratchet and Clank is here. Exquisitely designed levels (art design that is, Ratchet and Clank levels are rarely more than a linear path), weapon upgrades, a fun sense of humor wrapped around a cheesy story, skill points and hidden bolts, mini games, and tons and tons of objects on screen. I’m struck that Insomniac was able to put in the series’ trademark background spaceship lines (routes, roads? I’m not sure how to describe them. Lots and lots of spaceships up in the sky).

I think a lot of people we’re turned off by the game’s spotty controls. I can’t really blame them. The game gives you the option of moving with the analog nub and strafing with the d-pad but neither option is great in a firefight. The camera never behaves itself and a lot of the time spent in battle is wasted getting the camera in a good position. It never breaks the game but it does significantly distract from the fun.

But still. I’m enjoying the game for what it is. We’ll see if the Ratchet and Clankyness of it holds up or if the controls kill the game. Based on the first few levels I feel that I’m going to enjoy the game despite it’s flaws. If so I think I’ll check out the other lost R&C game: Secret Agent Clank. Maybe… if there’s a low point to the series it’s the Clank levels. I don’t know if I could stomach a game full of them. Give me laser guns and explosions over robo-karate chops any day.

Real quick, two stories:

1) A friend tells me that she regularly goes to Magic’s TGIFriday’s in LA.  While eating, she is approached by a man who strikes up conversation.  He seemed normal enough, and she gave him her number.  He went back to his seat and began to text her.  He asked her if she wanted to see a picture, and you guessed it, he sent her a picture of a huge penis–supposedly his. 

2) Another friend told me that she met a guy at a club.  He was sexy and older.  She hung out with him, and during their first (and last) time hanging out together, he invited her to put her hands down his pants to feel his penis.  While she was turned off by his uncouth request, she did it, and never hung out with him again (which I still find funny for several reasons).  

These are but two stories I’ve heard from women.  I could recount many more, and it has occurred to me that we men simply don’t get it.  Sure a ten inch pipe is good for some women, but those women tend to be professionally paid to have sex (I don’t want sex with a woman who can readily take a pipe that big anyhow!  Dam…..age (lol).  With women, sex is much more than penis size.  I know we all want to believe size matters, and it does.  It sucks for you if you have a small penis, but the reality is, and women will tell you this, you need some length and girth to scratch those itches.  Still, size is not the only thing, and it’s definitely not the most important thing. 

The very idea that size matters is a man’s creation.  Size matters to us!  We want bigger titties!  We want women with bigger asses.  We want women with bigger sex drives and so on and so forth.  This is how men think.  This is not a woman’s thinking.  I have never heard of a woman sleeping with some dude just because she saw a picture of his penis–no matter how big it was.  In fact, every story I’ve ever heard of a man sending a picture like that has been received with laughter and disdain.  That’s right men.  Women laugh at you when you send those pictures.  She may still sleep with you, but that’s because she actually likes your dumb ass.  That has nothing to do with the very unappealing “cock shot” you sent.  Do we–heterosexual men–like looking at pictures of women’s vagina’s?  I certainly do.  I think they are beautiful–some of them anyhow.  Some of y’all need…well…that’s another post.  But just because a woman sends you a picture of herself naked doesn’t mean that you are supposed to send a picture of your dick.  That’s just stupid, and if you don’t believe me, ask around!

The pictures aren’t even the problem though!  The problem is that we tend to think that we can solve the world’s problems with dick.

May I help you?

Some woman is upset at her job?  Men whisper that she needs a good fucking.  Can’t pay your bills?  Try some dick.  Need a root canal? Perhaps dick will fix the problem.  Having a hard time developing your thesis for that psych class you thought would be easy?  Dick may spark your academic juices.  This is all nonsense of course.  Now, this is not to say that a woman won’t do some out-of-bounds things for good sex, but that is not the same as declaring the cure for breast cancer to be dick. 

Dick won’t cure a damn thing in your life ladies.  I should know.  I’m great in bed, and I’ve yet to fix any of the world’s problems (lol).  Sure, you won’t be as stressed out, but really, that could be accomplished with a good conversation and a long hug.  It’s not the same, of course, but you get my point. 

Now, have I ever sent a “cock shot?”  Well that’s none of your business!  Would I send one?  Hell naw.  Why?  Well, among the multitude of valid reasons, women just don’t find it sexy.  They want to see your body–your face.  They want to imagine you touching them and/or inside of their bodies, and they don’t need a stupid picture of your penis messing up a perfectly good fantasy that would get your dumb ass laid if you would just not fuck it up. 

So think twice fellas.  Don’t send that picture.  And stop thinking you can fix problems with dick.  That’s just stupid. 

…there’s gotta be some rules people

(Rule 83: penis is not a cure-all)

The logo is the face of any brand — the very first impression — so its design is extremely important.

When executed correctly, a logo is a powerful asset to your client’s brand. However, creating an effective visual representation of a brand requires much more than just graphic design. Like any line of work that involves a set of specific skills, logo design requires plenty of practice and experience for it to be successful; knowledge is definitely power for any graphic designer. For this reason, we have outlined 12 essential rules to follow in order to design an effective logo.

1. Preliminary Work Is a Must
Preliminary sketches are an important first step in designing an effective logo. These can be as simple as paper and pen drawings or drafts made using a vector program, such as Illustrator. The bottom line is that you compromise the final result if you rush, or skip, this step. Start with 20 to 30 sketches or ideas and then branch out to create variations of the original ideas. If nothing seems to work, start over and begin sketching new ideas. An effective graphic designer will spend more time on this preliminary work than any other step in the design process.

2. Create Balance
Balance is important in logo design because our minds naturally perceive a balanced design as being pleasing and appealing. Keep your logo balanced by keeping the “weight” of the graphics, colors, and size equal on each side. Though the rule of balance can occasionally be broken, remember that your logo will be viewed by the masses, not just those with an eye for great art, so a balanced design is the safest approach.

3. Size Matters
When it comes to logo design, size does matter. A logo has to look good and be legible at all sizes. A logo is not effective if it loses too much definition when scaled down for letterheads, envelopes, and small promotional items. The logo also has to look good when used for larger formats, such as posters, billboards, and electronic formats such as TV and the Web. The most reliable way to determine if a logo works at all sizes is to actually test it yourself.  Note that the smallest scale is usually the hardest to get right, so start by printing the logo on a letterhead or envelope and see if it is still legible. You can also test for large-scale rendering by printing a poster-sized version at a print shop.

4. Clever Use of Color
Color theory is complex, but designers who understand the basics are able to use color to their advantage.

The basic rules to keep in mind are:

• Use colors near to each other on the color wheel (e.g. for a “warm” palette, use red, orange, and yellow hues).
• Don’t use colors that are so bright that they are hard on the eyes.
• The logo must also look good in black and white, grayscale, and two colors.
• Breaking the rules sometimes is okay; just make sure you have a good reason to!
• Knowing how colors evoke feelings and moods is also important. For example, red can evoke feelings of aggression, love, passion, and strength.
• Keep this in mind as you try out different color combinations, and try to match the color to the overall tone and feel of the brand.
• Playing around with individual colors on their own is another good idea. Some brands are recognizable solely by their distinct color.

For example, when you think of John Deere, you think of the “John Deere green” color, and this sets this brand apart from its competitors and, more importantly, makes the brand all the more recognizable.

5. Design Style Should Suit the Company
You can use various design styles when creating a logo, and to pick the right one, you should have some background information about the client and the brand. A recent trend in logo design is the Web 2.0 style of 3D-looking logos, with “bubbly” graphics, gradients, and drop shadows. This style may work well for a Web 2.0 website or tech company, but may not be effective for other kinds of brands. Research your client and its audience before you begin your preliminary work. This will help you determine the best design style from the start and save you from having to return repeatedly to the drawing board.

6. Typography Matters… a Lot!
Choosing the right font type and size is much more difficult than many beginner designers realize. If your logo design includes text, either as part of the logo or in the tagline, you will need to spend time sorting through various font types — often, dozens of them — and testing them in your design before making a final decision. Try both serif fonts and sans-serif fonts as well as script, italics, bold, and custom fonts.

Consider three main points when choosing a font to accompany your logo design:

• Avoid the most commonly used fonts, such as Comic Sans, or else your design may come off as amateurish.
• Make sure the font is legible when scaled down, especially with script fonts.
• One font is ideal, and avoid more than two.
• Strongly consider a custom font for your design. The more original the font, the more it will distinguish the brand. Examples of successful logos that have a custom font are Yahoo!, Twitter, and Coca Cola.

7. The Goal is Recognition
The whole point of creating a logo is to build brand recognition. So, how do you go about doing this? Well, it varies from case to case, but the goal with the logo is for the average person to instantly call the brand to mind. A few examples of this are the logos for Coca-Cola, Pepsi, McDonald’s, and Nike. Just a glimpse of any of these logos is all you need to recognize the brands. The key to making a popular and recognizable logo is to combine all of the elements discussed in this article: size, style, color, typography, and originality. Overlooking any of these during the design process will impair the quality of your final design. Examine your own logo design and see whether it meets all of these criteria.

A quick test to determine if your logo is recognizable enough is to invert it using any graphic design software and see if you can still recognize the brand. Additionally, you should mirror the logo and see if it’s easily recognizable in this state.

Keep in mind that logos aren’t always seen head-on in real world situations, for example, on the side of a bus or a billboard that you drive by. Therefore, you should make sure to view your logo design from all angles and ensure that it’s recognizable from any direction before submitting it to your client.

8. Dare to be Different
To stand out from the competition, you must distinguish yourself as a designer with a distinct style. Rather than copy another design or style, be innovative and stand out from the crowd. So, how can you be different? Try breaking the rules of design and taking risks. Try a variety of styles to find the one that works best for your client. Try different color combinations until you find one that makes your design truly original. Have fun with the design program you use, and keep tweaking the design until you feel you’ve got it right.

9. K.I.S.S. (Keep it Simple, Stupid)
The simpler the logo, the more recognizable it will be. For example, the Nike swoosh is an extremely simple logo and is also one of the most recognizable in the world. Follow the K.I.S.S. rule right from the start of the design process, when you are brainstorming ideas and doodling sketches. Often, you’ll find that you start with a relatively complicated design and end up with a simpler version of it in the end. Work the design down to its essentials and leave out all unnecessary elements.

10. Go Easy on Effects
Adobe Illustrator, Freehand, Photoshop, and other graphic design programs are extremely powerful tools and have many filters and effects that you can apply to your logo, but don’t get carried away! There’s a time and place for these powerful tools, but it is not necessarily to design a logo. Of course, playing around and seeing whether they enhance a logo is fine, but just remember that simplicity is key.

11. Develop a Design “Assembly Line”
To produce consistently high-quality logos, you need to develop your own design process, or “assembly line.” This should include the following steps:

• Research
• Brainstorm and generate ideas
• Preliminary sketches
• Develop vector designs
• Send to client
• Add or remove anything the client wants
• Finalize the design and resubmit to client

Although you may want to tweak the order slightly, you should follow these basic steps with each logo design. This will help you streamline your work, stay organized, maintain focus, and deliver better quality and more consistent results with each job.

12. Use Other Designs for Inspiration Only!
The last rule for designing an effective logo is quite simple: don’t copy other designers’ work! While there’s nothing wrong with being inspired by other designers, copying another person’s ideas or work is morally and legally wrong.

Gallery websites exist that let you use vector art images free of charge, with proper attribution under the Creative Commons License, but I strongly recommend not going this route. These websites can be helpful for getting ideas during the brainstorming stage, but you’re better off starting your design from scratch and making it 100% original.

Cheers!

Thanks to NASA for the picture.

SIZE DOES MATTER
Of the bank account, that is

(Rupert and Wendi Murdoch)

It won’t end well (Via Roflrazzi)

Picture by: dunno source Caption by: PastorBob via Poster Builder

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Wotcha everyone,

Spinks posted a lovely article here, and whilst I wanted to reply to some of the points she raised, I didn’t want to clog up her comments with an unholy mess of a ramble.

So here it is.  Lucky you (it’s not too late to run).

I can understand how there might be howls of anger at Arthas being the end-boss of a 5-man instance.  Surely Arthas, Lich King of Dooooom and general bogeyman throughout Wrath of the Lich King should be end-boss of a 25-man raid?  And a real challenge at that.  He is, after all, the Apex Predator of raid bosses, surely?

According to the Lore, he’s the biggest, baddest dude on the face of Azeroth.  Just thwarting his plans has taken the combined might of two alliances, numerous groups and societies, and a few hundred guilds.  Per server.

I try not to be a Lore-monkey.  Where did “Lore” come from?  Isn’t it…  “Background”?  At some point game background, there to add some flavour to the games we play, became more than just background, and to reflect that newfound prestige it gained a brand new, more impressive title; “LORE”.

And with it came Lore-monkeys.  Ready to complain at a drop of a hat whenever THE LORE was ignored.  Or even worse, when it was changed.

As you might have gathered, I’m not that interested in LORE.  I like some semblance of coherence to a game, but I’m more of the opinion that what makes for a good game is far more important than making sure the LORE is followed to the letter.  After all, fun is the reason we play, and a good game is going to be more fun.  If the LORE means less fun, then dump the LORE first.

I also don’t think that every part of the World of Warcraft is a raid waiting to happen.  Why should Arthas be solely a raid boss?  Why does he need to be a raid boss?

Not everyone who has played through Wrath of the Lich King is in a raid community.  And not all of those raids are going to be geared up enough to take on Arthas in Arthasland, if Arthasland is the final top-tier raid at level 80.

Now, with Wrath of the Lich King, Blizzard have tried to create a play-through story experience.  Areas in some zones change to reflect our position within the story; we get cutscenes and even flash-backs to previous, world-changing events.  We even play Arthas, so we can have a better understanding of the big cuddly harbinger of doom.

So, here we are.  We have played through the storyline.  We’ve seen the start of his reign, we’ve seen the effects on Northrend, we’ve played through a massive campaign which has had the sole aim of ending Arthas’ designs upon Azeroth.

I wouldn’t mind seeing an end to that story.  Don’t I have the right to some form of story closure?

The LORE should exist to enhance my gameplay, not restrict it.  And if Arthas is such a big bad guy that only a raid should be able to take him down, then why stop at 25 man?  Oh, how soon we forget those halcyon days of 40-man raids.  Ragnaros got 40 people beating on him at once.  So did Onyxia, back in the day.  So who’s this no-mark who only needs 25 people to take him down?

No.  I want to play my part in Arthas’ downfall.  I want to be able to put the boot in, even if that meant a really cool solo encounter.  One hobbit does it for Sauron..  One man kills Kurtz.  One man kills the Emperor (Okay, he’s more machine than man.  And he had his slacker son in the room).  The science fiction and fantasy genre is filled with One-man-making-a-difference.

Haven’t I earned that right?  Dress it up however it needs to be, but I’ve got just as much invested in seeing Arthas kicked to death than any other player, so why should it only be a small, select group of people on each server who get to do it?

Go Blizzard, you make Arthas a 5-man instance boss.  And I thank you for that.  You could even make him a solo encounter.  Maybe I could wait until he’s asleep.  And on the toilet.

After all, I’d hate for the climax to this story to just be another way of measuring the size of my epeen.

Cheers,
Hawley.

So the whole thing with the Huge Breast Fantasy game is that in addition to the game, you get a size G bra and two filled “Boob balls” with nipples that you can put in the bra and wear around…

Full details at Destructoid.

Let’s see… I’ve blogged about coming out of the closet, wenas, S&M, circumcision, working your freakazoid, and posted a video about getting it on in hotel rooms. I’ve also posted entries about self pleasure, burning up the bedsheets, polygamy, size matters, and sex in the wrong hole. I’ve even discussed what it’s like to be a pregnant bride, a cougar, and a MILF.

So, what’s left? Not much. The only thing I can think of now is hot lezbo action. What about hot lezbo action? Ummm… I dunno. That’s it. I was just thinking that I should talk about it.

Previously on “Your pickup line is a letdown….

Thanks for coming back for another round. It is very kind of you to do so. I mean, it’s not like you had to endure inane conversations or worry about a kayak kidnapping. No, that would be me. Thank you for finding enjoyment in my pain. That is what makes it all worth it.

“You look like a li-barian.” Oh, that is just fantastic. Not only are you saying that I look like an outdated stereotype of a lonely, prude, possibly barren owner of 11 cats,  you are mispronouncing it. “The liberries aren’t in season right now,” one of my circulation desk cohorts used to say to half the people who came through his line at our Gainesville library. They didn’t get it.  I am not willing to accept any excuse about it being a regional dialect, either. It’s not a hoagie versus a sub; It is mispronouncing a word. Yes, it is true that I have been calling shrimps scrimps and bamboo baboons for years now, because people I used to work with mispronounced those words and it made me laugh. But mispronouncing library or librarian doesn’t make me laugh. It makes me cringe, and I don’t like to cringe because it scrunches up my face and that causes wrinkles.

“Those bunnies are the cutest things I’ve ever wanted to eat!” OK, wait. You really just told me that you want to eat my pets, my babies, the loves of my life? Really? And, what now? You are trying to “apologize” by telling me that you have eaten animals like my pets before. How retarded are you? STOP. OMG. Stop. Now. Stop talking. Why are you still talking? No, really. Just. Shut. Up. Zip it. Simma down now. My fingers are in my ears. “MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB!” If you know anything about me, please know that I never, ever, not in the history of ever, want to hear any horrific tales about what happened to the bunny you had as a kid, nor do I want to hear about any that you have eaten. And if I ask you to please stop, please stop. No means no.

“Oh, good! Now the bathroom will smell like Lyssa!” Not really a pickup line, but I heard someone say it as I walked out of the bathroom at the Ferm. He was standing in line, waiting to use the public restroom, and he’s excited that it’s going to smell like me. Dude. I heard you. I know what you said. And I don’t know what it means. Because I have not eaten asparagus in a really long time. Is my lotion that strong that the smell clings to the bathroom air? I don’t understand. You know, I don’t want to understand. Can we talk about something besides the bathroom, please?

This next one came about during the course of casual bar stool banter. No, it is not my pickup line. I do not need a pickup line, thank you very much. Anyway, I asked someone, “What is the last book you read?” He looked at me, brushed the hair out of his eyes, and said “Baby, I don’t read; I make music.” Awesome. Good for you. I like to sing and read — and I like boys who read and make music. Well, here’s to many nights of you alone with your instrument. Happy strumming. You go make that music, honey. I have to go to the library.

“Here. Taste this. You won’t like it, but taste it.” Yes, it is better than “smell my finger,” but not much. Did I taste it? You want to know, don’t you? OK, it is beer. Something super hoppy and the only thing I like super hoppy are my bunnies. So, why would I taste it? I already know it is probably going to taste like some dank swamp ass, so why would I want to try it? And how do I know he didn’t slip me a mickey? Maybe he’s in cahoots with the kayak dude. So not worth it.

“I have cable — and a big TV.” Finally! One that works! Well, it works because the boy is really cute and I have a thing for big TVs. It’s all about perspective, really. And, yes, size matters.

And here is your bonus photo. Me and a boy who loves me. Thank you, Darla.

Anything for a treat

Matt is happy to display his tool. A deaf alcoholic is sad without his beer. In between it all, Deante tries to get him to hold his hand while he masturbates.

When the dust settles, find out who’s really bad in the outrageous 43rd episode of a Date with Deante!

When I was younger I wrote a lot. I also had a ridiculously large imagination that I’m pretty sure had no boundaries because I was always reading. Naturally because I read so much, my writing was infinitely better. As I went through my schooling I had less and less time for “enjoyable” reading and more time devoted to text book reading which inevitably shrunk my imagination. What does this have to do with anything?

Recently I was enjoying an internship at a Denver advertising agency. It was great because they were also a social committee of  sorts for the New Denver Ad Club. At the time of my internship, Keith Reinhard, Chairman Emeritus of  DDB along with Allen Rosenshine, First Chief Executive of BBDO came to speak at a presentation called “Size Matters.” I volunteered to help out, so I missed a lot of the networking, or so I thought.

At the end of the night, most people had left the building and the group had dwindled to about 15 or so. I found myself, a lowly graphic design intern, face-to-face with Keith Reinhard, advertising giant. Although I had gotten a ride there, there was absolutely no way I passing up this chance to network. I asked the one thing I knew I had to ask given my position. “Where did you start out?”

The thing is, most people assume that it is easy. The answer to my question was long winded. although he’s had a successful career, he told me that it wasn’t doing what he thought. When he showed his book to big agencies, the first break he got was in copywriting, not design. He challenged himself, writing everyday, so that he improved. I think, from his career, we can see that it worked.

His best advice to me that night was this, “just keep practicing.” It doesn”t matter if its writing copy, design, or directing. If you love what you are doing, you will find a way a to do it.

Thanks Keith for the great advice.

It’s been more than a week and I still haven’t called Last of the Mohicans. The last time I saw him was under the guise of wanting to spend yet another summertime-fun-filled afternoon with him and his dog Billy– but really, I just wanted to pick up the bicycle I’d left at his apartment a few days earlier… Of course I enjoyed the lavish attention that came with the bike pick-up, but once “picked”, and as I rode down 7th Street past the homeless and the whores, I felt somehow lighter, free-er. Like, “OK, there is nothing of mine at his place, so if I choose not to see him again its a clean break”. A pair of earrings is one thing, but a bike, a completely different caliber.

On our second to last date my worst fear was confirmed:  The small nosed Last of the Mohicans has a small cock.  Feeding habits of this wild feline aside, I don’t do SMALL.

What if he had been everything I’d dreamed for in a partner?  If he’d been slightly older, smarter, and less of a pot head? Would I have held on tight, rode the deliciousness of it all, ignored lack of  size? Probably. Not.

Am I a size queen? Not really. Do I like them a foot long and as thick as a Mexican wrestler’s forearm? Actually, no. But there is a limit to the small factor, and the length of my pinky finger is just too small.

There it is. I am this shallow. I am the girl who did not return his texts because to do so would be like saying “its OK, I don’t mind”.  But I do.

Today around 5pm I received the following text.

“not doing so good my brother is no longer alive.  Hope you had a great weekend! xxx”

Needless to say I called him.  Maybe I should blow him…

here’s a great quote, unfortunately I don’t know who said it… “I wish to do something Great & Wonderful, but I must first start by doing the small things like they are great & wonderful”

As I’ve posted previously, don’t become indifferent to your customers or clients, you could lose them not only because  you did something wrong, but because you didn’t do enough.

Size really does matter, something insignificant to you, may be all important or a stumbling block for your customer.

These things can be difficult to spot, no matter how hard you look, you won’t find them all, plus you’ll never be perfect, so listen to what your audience is telling you, and if they’re not telling you anything, ask them! don’t fool yourself by thinking their silence is because you’ve got everything right, it’s probably because they’re already looking somewhere else.

And make sure you’re asking the right questions, don’t ask, “Is everything OK?” ask “What is wrong & what could we improve?”, don’t ask “Why would you choose us over a competitor?” ask “Why would you choose a competitor over us?”

So, what’s the f’in diffference? Is it the little things? the small stuff? yes… but it’s the small stuff you don’t see and has to be pointed out to you, like the extra “f” in the word difference, that’s the f in difference, don’t expect to find them all on your own.

A sure sign that we’re deep into Summer: the most stressful part of my day was deciding what pair of jeans to buy.

I think it’s amazing that every shopper complains about sizing issues when purchasing clothes, especially considering all of the mechanized/computerized/digitized/standardized wizardry involved in manufacturing even the simplest T-shirt. This little conundrum feeds into my much larger theory that not all humans are of the same species. Sometimes when I stand near someone who is over six feet and weighs more than 200 pounds, I ask myself: “How is it that some people grow so tall, while others remain so small?” Our skeletal makeup is much more versatile and forgiving than the clothing industry. Short guy? Sorry, no trousers for you! Squat woman? Sorry, no clothes that you would actually like to wear! But our bones move right along with us as we grow, shrink, gain weight, lose weight.

All of this is true only up to a certain point. Morbid obesity does your skeletal health no favors, of course. Neither does dwarfism (side bar: is that term still politically correct? Probably not) or Giraffe-ism or severe malnourishment. But in a world with such a wide diversity of human shapes, the outputs of fashion remain stubbornly uniform.

In Chicago for a visit? Give Chicago deep dish a try. Beware slices appear smaller than in real life.

Deciding which one we want.

Appetizer to start. Spinach artichoke dip. The crackers had a spicy kick.

Entree has arrived. The Special deep dish. Includes sausage, mushrooms, green peppers and onions.

Is it already August!?! I have two more months left. Sounds like two more months before i die or something. ha ha. Okay. Very morbid, not funny. But i guess going back to living in the desert is pretty close to that.

Anyway! I met up with Kate today for coffee and dinner (and a little inevitable shopping in between). God knows how long it’s been since we last met. When two girls, both newly single and a few years older and wiser meet up after so long, all hell breaks loose! Major party plans this weekend, so many people will be in town. Happy~ ^_^

wait for the photos! =]

In the mean time, i’m sharing the photos of the celery they put in my Bloody Mary at Indochine where we had our dinner today. Kate and i thought it was pretty funny. And YES, size matters and i love Bloody Mary!

*p.s. Still exhausted from the weekend. Could be getting old. Binging on collagen now.