My little creeper. Sometimes he makes those faces when I’m least expecting it and I just die. Especially when we’re in public, like the mall, and I look over and realize that my son is now Igor.
I hate using the flash on my phone, because I have to look away and then I’m seeing blinking penii for an unlimited collection of minutes. But anyway, this was my Friday face last week. I was wearing Rabid Weasel from the My Pretty Zombie collection, which I had forgotten about because I have so many jars of Andrea’s amazing eyelid decorators. This is a very underrated shade and it makes me want to start flaunting the sparklies again.
Today, I’m wearing Goth Mary Poppins. No pictures though. Ain’t nobody wanna see that much of my mug. I try to limit myself to posting two-to-five self-portraits a month on the blog.
Maybe I should get Henry to model one MPZ shade a week.
Ever since the Art Festival last June, Chooch has been hounding me to get him pottery classes. I made the mistake of leaving this up to Henry, since everything I found was on a weeknight and I work a sucky evening shift, so it would be up to Henry to take him. Of course, Henry dropped the ball and missed the enrollment for summer classes. So, as a Christmas present, I signed Chooch up for the winter session. God, I really have to do it all!
I worked a half day yesterday so that I could go to the first class and it was totally worth it. Even though it was only an hour. The class size was small and the kids were pretty inoffensive for the most part, which is saying a lot because usually it only takes a kid to glance in my general direction before I’m getting all huffy and designing anti-kid brigade t-shirts.
All the other moms (and one dad in the official uniform of Portland*) stayed too, but no one bugged me. But I think I was too distracted by all OF THE CLAY! THAT SWEET, BEAUTIFUL CLAY!
*(Stylishly ragged Urban Outfitters olive-green cableknit sweater; dirty pegged stonewashed jeans; boots; a modest hipster beard just brillo-y enough to tuck inside a Crayon or two in case he decided to doodle some owls on his Pabst-spotted napkin at the Wavves show; and thick-framed glasses — but I hope you already knew that he was wearing thick-framed glasses.)
Chooch and Portlandia’s spawn were the only boys in the class, so Chooch was being especially lippy because that is what he does around other girls his age. I think he especially liked this one girl with long brown hair in pigtails. She was pretty exotic-looking and I just have a feeling Dad is a doctor or high-powered businessman with stock in some wildly lucrative Japanese pornography market, so I approve. Her mom sat next to me and knitted the whole time. I was surprisingly OK with that.
The parents at those cooking classes from 2011 were WAY more offensive than this lot, but Henry was still totally out of place and squirmed a lot. Mostly because they appeared to be NPR-listening hybrid-drivers* and Henry is one of those Blue-Collareds. He is bound to be out of place any place we go that isn’t a truck stop or Pep Boys.
*(I am OK with these kinds of people as long as they’re not snobby motherfuckers. It’s the snobby motherfuckers I hate, like the parents from Chooch’s old Catholic school. They thought they were so fucking hot.)
The instructor was this super cute artist girl with baby gauges that I desperately want to be friends with (the girl, not her gauges) because I bet she’d go to a Xiu Xiu show with me. I admired her patience and also her ability to answer the children sarcastically and not sound like a total d-bag doing it.
I forgot her name.
Anyway, the kids got to make a bird in a nest with an egg for their first project and I desperately wanted to not only make my own, but also stick my hands in there and fix everyone else’s because they were all doing it wrong. They will all be fired and ready to take home next week. Chooch said, “Yay! I can’t wait to give it to my teacher.”
WHAT THE FUCK!? I’m sorry, but that fucking nest is going on Mommy’s desk, son.
I expected Gotye to be playing for the entire hour, but only one Gotye song came on, proving my pottery prejudices mostly wrong.
Willie, totally enrapt with watching the Pope leave Rome in a helicopter. This is fascinating to me because in the 14 years Willie has co-existed with me, I have never known her to show interest in anything other than not peeing in litter boxes.
Peace out, Pope!