Illustration Friday : Cocoon

Happy Illustration Friday : "Ahead"

I try to stay ahead. I really do.

But.

When all else fails: Leaning always seems to help.

(I love Illustration Friday. Long-time stalker. First-time poster.)

Happy Charles Manson Day!

I don't think I'm doing Christianity a favor

by looking like Charles Manson

at one of his many parole hearings.

But lucky for me, for once, my naturally greasy forehead

will come in handy and take care of this in about,

oh,

2 hours.

Another thing I heard:

If you get lucky enough to get a huge cross like this then,

much like jury duty, you are exempt from doing it again for 10 years.

(It's true.)

PS: I'm giving up The Squatleys for Lent and moving to another apartment, and now I get to write about them for the next 40 days, even though I could most definitely go on about them for 90 days, easy.

I'm working on it.

No really, I'm working on it.

Okay, I'm not. But I used to here and here. Somewhat.

I wonder if I'll ever clean up the type in my header. I'll take a nap on that.

In case you ever needed to know:

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Go, Lysol, go. Plus it comes with one, splitting headache absolutely free.

You're welcome. Back to work, citizens.

mom: Ohhhhhhhhhhhh...

me: .........

mom: (singing, too near my head)...mmmmmmmmmm-maresseedotes and dosiedotes and little lambs eat iiiiiiiiiiiivy....

me: Stop it. Anyway, It's Mares Eat Oats, or Mairzy Doats. I shouldn't know this.

mom: Ya know why we used to sing it that way? (dancing around me in a circle getting smaller and smaller) Because we thought we were singing in another language...

me: And they also sprayed you with DDT when you were kids to straighten your hair and made you duck'n'cover to protect yourself from radiation. Lady. Get out of my face.

mom: (singing, too near my head)...mmmmmmmmmm-maresseedotes and dosiedotes and little lambs eat iiiiiiiiiiiivy....

me: I'm not kidding you. I have a peach pill in that purse over there, and one of us is going to take it.

My Dad had a beautiful dream, I can do basic math now, and my mom's gone deaf.

mom: "Yep, that's what he'd say every time...blonde, blue-eyed, with big boobs..."

me: "And don't forget deaf."

mom: "Oh-ho yes, that's what he'd say to me and everyone at The Knife and Fork Club, when I'd tell 'em that I wish I hadda married a gay man. Your Daddy'd say, 'Well yeah, I wish I hadda married me a li'l ol' blonde with big, blue-eyes, big boobs, and she'd be a deaf-mute."

me: "You keep forgetting the 'and she'd be a deaf-mute nymphomaniac whose daddy owned a liquor store' bit at the end."

mom: "Remember when he brought Noel Hunnicutt's Playboy into the house, and I found it stuck up in his closet?"

me: "No."

mom: "Oh sure you do, remember, it took me 3 or 4 days to color all the clothes on 'em with Magic Markers, on all those nasty women. I even drew turtlenecks on some of 'em. Made him s'mad because he had to return it to Hunnicutt since he'd 'just borrowed it', yeahright. Honestly. I mean really. The very idea."

me: "The liquor store part always sounded pretty good to me."

mom: "That's because your Papaw hid in a utility closet to drink God Knows What outta his ol' brown paper bag...bless 'im..."

me: "I'm beginning to understand why. And you had kids? Thanks a lot."

mom: "Well. It wasn't on my mind at the time."

me: "Hey, you're not throwing me with that one anymore. It took me until I was 28 to do the math on this: two babies, born 3 years and a day apart, March 25th and 26th. Daddy's birthday was June 19th, and you couldn't have just gotten him a nice tie or a book instead?"

mom: ...

me: ...

mom: "So what'd you have for supper?"

me: "Brie."

Dear Apartment 42

You do know that at night, when you have the light on and the blinds are open, I can totally see you talking gibberish to your cat while you change your pants, right? If not, then oops. If so, then dude, you've sullied my porch time. You have to know this. I've thrown marbles at your window. We've been through this. Dude. Seriously. For real?

Love,

Apartment 22

ps: I like you, I do, but dude. Seriously.

Remember blogging?

Me neither. That's why I'm cranking up the blog again. Yes, it'll be loaded with actual writing that about 3 kind people will read. It'll be like the good ol' days.

Right after these important messages...

No, really. Oh nevermind, I need a nap and more iron supplements. And gouda. Smoked gouda.

From the very beginning, Stephen Merchant and I had a mutual, standing agreement to "keep our options open". But I'll admit, I've been spending a dangerous amount of time in Chokeville with Joshua these days.

(Good Lord, people, let me dream.)

www.fireland.com