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News on the funemployment front: I’ve got a stall at the market!
I kind of neglected to say anything about that in previous posts. My bad.
Anyways, you can find me there Saturdays from 7am until 1pm schlepping pretty things I make along with these best-consumer-whore-purchase-of-the-decade wonders of design & convenience:
Laptop Lunches. Cute & fun little bento-style lunchboxes which our family has been using for quite a while now (even the mister!) & they’re pretty much the cat’s pajamas but pretty spendy & guilt-inducing to import on a small scale so I spent some bucks on an order to bring them to the good hippies of Peterborough.
The experience has lead me to the thought that my MAC makeup selling elf of a stall neighbour & I should open a store filled with good shit you can’t find in Peterborough and name it ‘Good Shit You Can’t Find in Peterborough’ on principle.
I digress. Come visit me at the market & buy cute bento lunchboxes & get a makeover!
Highlights of my life since I last updated:
1. I won (through sheer whinge-power) and received a funkadelic necklace from the lovely and talented Jennifer Judd-McGee whose artwork is so stupendously amazing that every time I visit her shop I lose my mind to sensory overload and can never decide what to buy. I think I’ve resigned myself to saving my pennies for an original (or four) or having something commissioned but that doesn’t stop me visiting the site and having the old ticker blown everytime she updates it all over again. It’s a vicious circle, that is.
2. I wrecked my back in ways I never thought possible, really. I’ve never experienced any serious back pain before and, though this was far from ‘serious’, discovered I’m really not equipped with the skills to deal with it. I couldn’t sit, stand, walk or lie down for any length of time without some near final stages of labour levels of pain. I never want to go through that again though I did enjoy the massive amounts of time it left me to read and not do housework.
3. I told off some baseless fuckwit who decided it was a great idea to hang out on a cozy chair on my front porch directly outside my bedroom window at 3:30 in the morning and carry on a conversation with his buddies across the road. Stuff like that normally gets the hackles up and evokes cranky terrier style fits from yours truly. That this happened when I had to be up at 6am to go to market had me spitting like a mad gorgon. Needless to say I made him bolt. His friends laughed. He still had the nerve to respond with a sarcky ‘Sorry, lady. I was just chillin’ on your porch.’ MY porch, asshat! MINE! I’m a wee bit territorial.
4. I went to the annual Ribs & Beer fest and just about broke out in misanthropy-induced hives. It was a serious disappointment this year. Everything from location to setup to gaining sponsorship from a single brewery was wrong, wrong, wrong and created an atmosphere more akin to a fair ground’s beer tent – ignorant, table-monopolizing, drunken, misogynist numpties and all – and less like the lovely, chill festival in the park which I knew and loved. If it’s run the same way next year I’m just going to have all of the cool kids back to my house for better beer and better ribs.
5. For the first time in the 7 years we’ve been separated my babies’ daddy has taken vacation time with them. He took one week back in March and is now at the cottage with them for 2 weeks! Hardly a judgment call; dude works hard in an industry which is not very conducive to taking good family vacations. It’s just exciting. And I’m excited for them even if it leaves me waking up every morning with the feeling that I’ve forgotten something. I swear I’m going to have the worst case of empty-nester’s syndrome on the face of the planet with the sprogs leave home.
I suppose there’s more but I’m lazy and the ADD’s kicking in and I want to move onto something else.
Image courtesy of artchive.com
A whopping 33″ x 44″ print of Aubrey Beardsley’s The Ascension of Saint Rose of Lima has been snubbing its sarcastic little nose at me from its spot in my sister’s hallway since the fateful day a few years ago when my normally equitable thrifter & gifter of a mum brought it to her and to me a(nother) book on Frieda Kahlo. I’m not sure whether it was her failure to recognise it as a Beardsley print, my sister’s then recent interest in furnishing her home with art, spite, or an early onset of senility which caused this grievous error but the print was clearly meant to go to the sister who does recognise & appreciate Beardsley’s work in all of its saucy glory (that sister being me, of course – I’ve had the limerick which goes with that particular illustration off by heart since I was 16 and believe me, it’s a fun one to pull out in mixed company) and the book to the sister who clearly needs to broaden her knowledge of Frieda’s life and who doesn’t already own 3 books on the matter. I’ve been pissing and moaning about this for 3 years. Until now that is. Now it’s in my living room waiting to be hung because I, being the opportunist that I am, saw an opening to cut an underhandedly shadey deal with my sister which landed me the painting and her a bare hallway wall. I have no shame. The print is mine. Mine mine mine mine mine.
cushti 
