Tag Archives: Crayola

Oscar Me This, I’ll Answer You That


Okay, who has an in with the weather department, cuz (there’s that word again) it SNOWED ON MY BIRTHDAY! In addition to Christmas, may I remind.


Checked out the Toytopia exhibit at a local museum, where I met Zoltar (not the Brazilian death metal band), but he had nothing to offer in way of fortunes. Sometime later, Bean walks up to me and presses a card into my hand, “Ya want it?” It’s a slightly crumpled fortune she’s found strewn in among a pile of legos at a nearby table. I waited to read it till late that night. It went on about how happiness (joy is still best) was in store for me, which made me laugh and not in a bitterly scoffing kinda way either. I tucked it under my pillow as a reminder to snap a photo to share in the a.m. when daylight streamed through the window. I remembered to grab the card, but not the photo. How many different fortunes are available? Are there new cards written regularly? Is there someone out there with an extensive card collection? Wonderments.

Here’s my favorite museum companion exploring the sounds of historical messages piped through a black blocky item called a phone receiver. Notice her quick scan for the ‘rents before relishing the tongue bath she gave that germ-laden thing under the aghast gaze of Auntie. The oral fixation is strong with this one.


This ginorm faux Crayola box found at the exhibit has me wanting to paint the box front on a wall in the future.


Crayola to cortado. I dig names with multiple syllables and vowels, what can I say. It’s like a less foamy cousin to my favorite, the cappuccino. Warm liquid buried under mounds of foam. Wait, I just described a sink of dishwater. Snagged this particular cortado before wandering into the adjacent movie theatre the other day to view the last film on the list for this year’s Oscar-nominated Best Picture category. Bean’s been surprisingly big on trying to fit them all in, whereas, I’m like, “Hey, can I just hang out with Edie?” Maybe I’ll return to my fevered run (drive) around Washington to see all things nominated in the coming year. I definitely miss aspects of it. Fun fact: every time I say the word “coffee,” Edie coughs.

“Hey, Bun, I’m gonna make some coffee, let’s go to the kitchen.” *cough-cough*
“Shane, do you have any creamer for the coffee?” *cough-cough from a nearby room*
“Did you hear that, you think she did that intentionally? Say ‘coffee’.” *cough-cough from a nearby room*

I thought I’d find myself rooting for The Shape of Water given a number of components- the director, the retro time period and accompanying aesthetic (!), an unusual love story, Michael Shannon, but, no. It felt empty somehow, the love story wasn’t given enough time to get off the ground (outta the water?) and served up a few unnecessarily harsh and clinical sex scenes likely meant to juxtapose the tenderness to follow, but the intent fell flat, instead marring the fantasy of it all. I favor Darkest Hour and the touching and quirky Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri which had surprising heart with humanly flawed characters that weren’t afraid to confront their failings, share their remorse, and attempt amends. World, take note, blueprint for life! I’ll likely be thrilled if Get Out wins, though I’m not championing it at the moment despite a rewatch. Phantom Thread was worth the wait of its slow unfold in the summation of one deliciously satisfying line and action at the very end. It produced gleeful delight on my part! It’s nice to be surprised in the theatre. ♦

Now Accepting Happy Surprises. Had Fun Giving Some!


Now accepting happy surprises. Had fun giving some!
I’m full up on the other kind.
Huge hope and desire for the year ahead- to be effective, to make an indelible impression, to be allowed the tangible. Rainbows and starshine shooting from the bum as well? Sure, why not.


Gone, but not forgotten.
The season may be over, but there was nothing like dismembered elfin heads all strung in a row to celebrate.


Hey, ya hear the one about-
Yeah, me neither. Did hear bunches of holiday music this past month instead. Wasn’t all-together ready to pack it up and in. It brought a sense of nostalgia with it that I’ve hungered for. No hippo, though. Plenty of new Crayolas via Bean in these nifty silver packages- time for a crayon party. You think I’m kidding. ♦

Ball, Car, Pavement. Repeat. A Chicken and Bubbles to Boot!

Quite frankly, I’m astounded. Have made it through many (!) a month now without the occurrence of what I deem a “Lucy antic.” Apparently, the viewing of far too much I Love Lucy while growing up has had an adverse affect on life’s happenings, causing many the wacky and fantastical happening, occasionally reported here in times past. Did I mention that my grandmother’s name is Lucille? Locating some wood …

Life’s too good, despite an unexpected locked car door, or two.

When locking one’s keys in the car, it’s best to recognize the positive. In calling Bean with a need for the other keys, she offered not one groan or grumble, at least to the hearing of my ears, just something along the lines of, “Alrighty, we’re on the way!” Then, when walking out to the main road to meet up with my rescue’s arrival, I received seven “hello’s and how are you’s” from passersby. Semi-ominous clouds above held off on a potential downpour and I was able to finish two chapters in my book at the time, Shutter Island, recommended by who else- Bean. Life’s too good, despite an unexpected locked car door, or two. Point in case, this bit of pansy-ness flourishing mid-sidewalk spotted along the way. This pansy’s no pansy, having grown up through a crevice amidst the grey, grey pavement of the sidewalk, and though likely set to be squished by the wheel of a passing bicycle all too soon, offered up hope, joy, and a smile in the meantime. Near re-bolstered my dimmed moxie from some months back now. Thrive on, little asphalt flower!

Lavender Pansy Growing Up Through Cement Crack

Speaking of owning a pair, pardon the crude reference, but behold Bean’s car balls. They follow me around the car, I swear. Up front? Car balls. Backseat? Car balls. Roof rack? Car balls! Swingin’ to, swingin’ fro.

Red Joe Cool Car Dice

The lovely autumn weather (J’adore!) finds me frequenting the car wash, more often than not. Brushes buff, bouffant, primp, polish and poof every bit of my little car as I happily snap away at the sudsy soapfest capturing a play by play of the waxing on and waxing off. Never fails to remind me of the fun I found it to be in accompanying my dad through a similar car wash as a munchkin of four.

Car Wash

My favorite blacktop find as of late was this here melty crayon. Sure, it’s not my beloved Crayola, but all’s forgiven as it’s very nearly the color of my bedroom! Kingfisher Teal.

Teal Rose Art Crayon

My favorite olive-green-shaggy-rug-on-carpet-how-I-wish-you-were-really-hardwood-floors find would be these here pink fuzzy-slippered feet. Mine! The quest to be part Muppet lives on …

Pink Fuzzy Slippers

Once blogged of the pint-sized rubber chicken that adorns my car dash and its unfortunate popping due to an all too friendly warming of the super-hot sun. “Popping” resulted in the liquid-filled, squishy yolk substance lying within to ooze out and down said dash. Enter replacement chicken! Via Christmas stocking stuffer. Alas, more poppage. So, imagine my glee to encounter that there unhoused, as-of-yet, chicken-free yolk at the store recently. Now, how to get it into the chicken … slingshot, please!

Rubber Chicken and Plastic Jelly Yolk

Thinking that bubbles must be a close relation to bunny wabbits in their ability to reproduce in droves. You walk away for the quickest of moments and- GAZUNGA! Stay Puft. ♦

Bubbles Overflowing In Sink