Last weekend, the holler was full of stinky hikers, this week? River rats. The campground hosts a river festival every year, with B-list rock bands, festival tents and lots and lots of alcohol. Ten years ago? I would have been right there in the middle of it, but now I just know I'd spend the whole time whining about how far it was to the nearest Porta-Potty.
I spent most of yesterday working on the pendants pictured above. I cast my own molds from some seashells I had lying around and finished them off with my own "faux shell" painting technique. I've got a few other ideas I've been kicking around, I'm thinking about putting them on Etsy.com. What do ya'll think?
I woke up this morning to a yelping chihuahuaranian, Ma loudly hissing "SHHHHHHH!" every two seconds and the sound of the front door opening and closing. Nine o'clock might not seem that early to most of ya'll, but I was up watching the boob tube 'til all hours of the night and had planned to sleep in.
I rolled out of bed and staggered down the hall to find Ma sitting at the kitchen table with a defiant look, the front door standing wide open and Aunt Moses barrelling in the front door, waving a soaking wet Sunday paper in my face.
"HERE'S YER PAPER!!!" she announced.
I may have mumbled something like... "just throw it down... gawd," as I stumbled to the bathroom. I don't know what she was doing here, she was gone when I came out. I lumbered in to the kitchen to make coffee, Ma glaring at me from atop her glasses.
"I don't know why you're always in such a bad mood. Do you really hate living here that much that you're just angry all the time?"
Sweet Jesus. All I did was get up and pee and already I've managed to piss her off.
My attitude. My smart mouth. She takes me right back to 12 years old in a sentence.
I probably said some things I shouldn't have, none of which I meant and now I'll spend the remainder of the day in a mental tug o' war, trying to talk myself out of all the self guilt and loathing. Ma will, no doubt, call Aunt Moses and discuss my mood swings, making my reputation as the crazy, spinster cousin... with anger issues... firmly carved in granite for eternity.
Anywho...
I think I'm gonna go pour myself another cup of coffee, put my feet up, close my eyes and drift away in to daydreams about witty men in black eyeliner, whispering sweet nothings in my ear with foreign accents.
Y'all have a good one. We'll talk again soon.
Later Taters!
P.S. Now you can also find me at HiddenMahala.com. Same blog. Same nonsense.
6 comments:
I'd definitely do the Etsy thing; they're purdy :)
And thank you for reminding me for the millionth time that, no matter how bad things are here, things "back down south" would be *much* worse. You've done your good deed for the day, which will negate any "supposed" transgressions you may have committed within the trailer.
so cool!
Okay, I thought those were real seashells! You obviously have a great eye for reproducing what you see. I know if I had tried to paint something like that it would look like something out of kindergarten class! Nice!
You are quite the faux painter! They look real!
Believe me, the shells are totally a fluke. You should see all the stuff I've done that I HAVEN'T shown you lol.
I once read a book about a pilgramage from southern France into Spain, the hikers carry scallop shells as a sign of identity. All you need to do is write a pilgramage legend and flog the shells to the stinky hikers, a market walking right past you door every-day. Make enough for Mom to live in the other wing of the big-house.
DG
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