No matter, my voice sounds the same no matter how f*ked up my hair is. Besides, I am a wiz at hairclips and I love my nappy bouffants…and so does he. [my smile goes rat cher] “I am not my hair”-India.Arie.
Behold, tiny fun attempt at an art trading card made once upon a time. He is not a minute past 2 1/2 by 4 1/2 inches on decent watercolor paper. Gouache is the base medium, on top of which I sketched in watercolor pencil and pan watercolors. He has been living in a trinket shadow box wall display made of raw wood in my bathroom. At the time I wanted to play with colors while drawing a random squared jaw dude. Male objectification: mission accomplished. I can not remember why I drew the floating water leaves. I gotta do more of this. That was fun.
The washing machine is singing it’s spin cycle lullaby. I just finished packing a spinach salad for lunch that is whispering ” I am delicious for brunch too, you know?” I ended last night on a happy note, after toddling off to bed way, way after Mr. Goofy Ass Ferguson’s Late Late Show rolled credits. I am ready for some more sleep. Now. And that is so not going to happen. Gotta go answer some @#&$% telephones.
Let’s dress up like complete fools starting right now. This grown up masquerade that you try to pull for most of the year is not foolin’ anyone. I can tell you are a kid at heart that cannot wait till the 31st. The great thing about being an adult is that you can buy all of the candy that you really want. Buy extra bags to console yourself for the inevitable blues that will sweep over you reminiscing about your childhood holiday crazy-fun romps through the old neighbourhood to fill up that plastic pumpkin. There will be no yucky Chick-o-Sticks in your self acquired stash, dammit.