I was working at a tattoo shop in town and also doing some volunteer work setting up exhibits at the local museum. An exhibit of circus banners was scheduled to have a gala opening, with little freaky things thrown in like croutons. Like me, giving fake tattoos to the philanthropist around town. I drew up a sheet of pseudo-flash and grabbed some Sharpies (my passive aggressive way of wishing days of flesh scrubbing).
Me: What do you want me to draw on you?
Face lift: Barbed wire like Pamela Anderson.
Me: Are you sure? I have all these other ones. Some are even kind of historical!
Face lift: NO, barbed wire.
Boob job: Oh, look at that! I want that, too.
Me: The same exact thing?
Boobs: Yeah.
Spray tan: Ooooooh, wow! Me, too!
Me: The barbed wire??? Really???
Spray: Yeah, do it.
Me to my friend Gary after their departure: What the HELL was that! We're done with this. I have a prior engagement I forgot about. Can you f*cking believe that?
Gary: Yeah.
Me: I just know they're hoping their lying, cheating husbands will think it's hot. I hate myself.
Gary: HA! You should. You enabled that whole thing. You're an jerk.
Those are the types of people who are making our shared spaces more beautiful... eh.
I studied painting and illustration for two years in college before slightly waking up and finishing with a Liberal Arts degree with a minor in psychology and a minor in creative writing. I am now a stay-at-home mom, a freelance writer/illustrator, a retail jockey, and a cook. My husband has two degrees-- one in metalworking and another in art history. He works at a shop, manufacturing hand wood carving tools. I am pretty sure we both hate 'art'.
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