Friday Flotsam

FA RU IA DE AY.

You know what I think?

YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT I THINK, EARL?

Just kidding.

I think I’d like to take a watercolor class!

AS IN, me attempting to paint with paints on some sort of fabric and not completely destroy it.

And I’m not talking about one of those cheesy drink and paint classes (although now that I’m typing it out that’s completely what I’m talking about) that you all paint the same wine glass or bowl of grapes or sunset. No. Not that. Maybe.

I want to learn WATERCOLOR. With soft, warm autumnal tones. Something abstract (to hide my mistakes) and earthy (to express my soul) and simple (because I’m clueless). And no bright lime green walls. But with that whole wine thing I mentioned. And Bolero playing in the background. Or mid-’90s Fiona Apple.

Does this exist?

I MEAN IS THIS TOO MUCH TO ASK?

You’d go with me, right?

Guess what else I think about.  (and this ^^^ isn’t watercolor. It was the paper wrapped around my Elizabeth Suzann order, which I’ll be showing you soon. Gorgeous, right!? I sort of want THAT VIBE, but in watercolor. Mine’s going to look like a murder.)

But guess what else I think about in my brain.

And I’m SERIOUS here. Dead serious. Totally srz.

You know how they say when your arms are crossed, you send a closed-off message to the world or whoever you’re communicating with? WHAT IF THAT’S JUST YOU BEING COMFORTABLE?

Because I love crossing my arms! It’s cozy. It’s like a little self hug. But I’m always too dang AWARE of it when I’m with people and never do it. I don’t want to send negative messages, guys! (I’m trying not to panic.)

ESPECIALLY (and this is the dead serious part. I’m clearly way too much in my head.) when I’m at the salon and getting my hair washed. I make a conscious effort to gently clasp my hands with my palms up. Because (I’m laughing out loud typing this) I’m afraid if my arms are crossed she won’t MASSAGE MY SCALP BECAUSE I’M GIVING OFF NEGATIVE ENERGY.

Hahahaha! What on earth. This is my life.

But really! I feel like if my palms are up, it says, “Wash and massage forever. As long as you live and breathe. Just keep washing my hair and massaging my scalp because my palms are open and my energy is positive. I’m not closed off to you or this experience. I trust you. Get up in my hers.”

DO YOU DO THIS? Or think about this at all at the salon? Or ever?

No?

Really?

. . .oh.

never mind.

. . . . . carry on.

Okay.

You know those tiny blue rubber bands that come wrapped around scallions? Do you throw those away, or do you toss them in your junk drawer?

YOU’RE IN ONE CAMP OR THE OTHER, CHACHI.

‘Fess up. Throw ’em out? Or keep them for some Real Simple-style hack that they used to publish in the magazines?

Spill it.

Um, did you know Kim Crawford IS A MAN?

A MAN.

HE’S A DUDE.

ALL MALE.

I’ve always called my sauv blanc Kimmy. “Get me my Kimmy! I love her so.”

HER.

Guys.

I’m speechless.

Just excuse me as a rearrange my entire life.

Weekend plans?

It’s going to be 70 (SEVENTY ! ! !) degrees tomorrow, so I’m shifting my work schedule for an obvious outdoor play day. With rosé. AND KIM THE MAN SPECIES. Guys.

Today we’ll bling our Halloween costumes (never got around to it last week!), have a cozy fire tonight and watch something completely terrifying. I also want to go out to dinner because I’ve cooked at home for the last ever.

I realize this last part is dragging on. What are you eating for dinner tonight? What are you watching? TELL ME ALL THE THINGS.

I also realize there’s a hefty amount of screaming in this post. Ssssssssarry.