Staring contest ends in 3…2….tears
Trying to get some new paintings done for the craft show thingie I’m doing next weekend. I rarely paint anymore (usually just customs and presents for my buddies) so this has been very trying. When I painted A LOT, I was vacillating between a period of sinking depression and circus-level mania. I’m a little more evened out now and I find that makes it difficult to tap into that part of myself. I was pretty sad last week though, so that helped me get some shit done.
I don’t foresee myself ever getting back into this regularly again though. Plus, I never paid my Etsy bill for the Somnambulant shop and it has been SUSPENDED, you guys. Etsy ain’t playin’.
Those shit-stained tentacles are actually gold, but you can pretend they’re really shit-stained if you want. Who knows what these octopi have been doin’ to each other. IT IS NOT OUR BUSINESS.
Resurrected the old bathroom plaques, too. Holy Shitter was always a hit, and hopefully it will be next weekend, too. When I used to sell shit at this local shop called Wildcard, they sold every last one of my bathroom plaques during their grand opening, and that has always been one of my coolest achievements, I guess.
Chooch’s first pottery project, which he did NOT take to school for his teacher because I put my fucking foot down. I believe my exact words were, “Did she pay $99 for these goddamn pottery classes? NO, I DIDN’T THINK SO. WHY DO YOU LOVE HER SO MUCH MORE THAN ME!?!?”
A throatpunch to the motherfucker who invented these belt buckles, for fucking real. There are two pairs of jeans that Chooch can’t wear to school because neither of us can unbuckle the belts in order for him to put them on. (He takes them off by yanking them down his body so he doesn’t have to piss with the belt, which is how we get into these predicaments in the a.m.!)
Fathers, this is a cheap alternative to chastity belts. Planned Pregnancy-endorsed, probably!
It doesn’t matter how mant times Henry has demonstrated, WE CANNOT COMPREHEND THE WAYS OF THESE BUCKLES ONCE HENRY ABANDONS US. I have BLED myself trying to work these things. And it never fails to result in World War What Number Are We On Now? between Chooch and me. Good morning, motherfuckers!
Anyway, I posted this on Facebook & Instagram and it was amazing how many people chimed in via comments and straight up text messages, offering instructions and even suggesting that I bring the pants into work because someone could probably use their law degree to wedge it loose. That’s great guys, but unless you are sending me the hand of motherfucking Hulk, your advice is of no use.
Because the truth is, I don’t care if you make me a Power Point presentation, a YouTube tutorial, or have Jonny Craig sing a song about it, WE JUST DON’T GET IT.
Fuck Henry for never being there in the morning to handle this for us. God, what a fucking deadbeat.
On a lighter note, here is a picture that Henry sent me from Chooch’s pottery class tonight. Apparently, they also made masks. Guess what kind of a mask Chooch made? A scary devil mask painted with his own testosterone!
Just kidding. It was a cat.
I have other things to rant about, but I don’t have pictures to go with them and since this is a post about pictures, I guess I will just save those rants for another day. Like probably tomorrow.