Krystal: Today, on this dreary Sunday afternoon, we are running into what some might call, “bloggers’ block”. And by some, I mean me. As a result, we’re just riffing. Hope you all don’t mind terribly.
Kate mentioned to me today that she likes calling my classroom because she doesn't have to worry about accidentally dialing 911. She’s done this twice now this school year while trying to call colleagues with classrooms that start with "11". I would have liked for her to say that she enjoys calling my classroom because she likes to hear my beautiful voice. Not so, my friends. Not so.
Kate: The thought of having an ambulance and fire truck show up at the school simply because I was fumble-fingers who can’t remember to dial 6 and not 9 before a room extension has caused great anxiety in me every time I go to pick up the phone.
Krystal: I, however, would look forward to causing such a scene. I am hopeful that the first responders would be young, strong and handsome. But then, we are in Penacook...
Kate: I’ll be sure to tell our bosses that if it happens for a dreaded third time. They’re all so desperate to get us married off that I’m sure they’d support this type of mistake. I think I’ll just stick to my avoidance of calling any sixth grade rooms like I have been for now. Lucky you, that means you get to be the recipient of most of my out-going calls. (Also, how else would we figure out what we are making, I mean buying, for dinner??)
 |
| "Blobs on a Stick" |
Krystal: On a different note, we’ve both come to the disappointing realization that we are NEVER going to be professional painters. After last night’s dismal creations at my mom's 50th birthday party at Muse Paintbar, it might be time to accept that acrylics will never be our medium.
Kate: I like to think I’m optimistic about most things, but not on this one. I’m so bad, I’m pretty sure a toddler with any type of fine motor skill ability would make a fool of me.
Krystal: To be fair, we both consumed two glasses of wine…TWO! AND I had gotten up at 4:30 AM (as I like to call that, the middle of the night!!) on Friday to go to the gym and work on my Veg-a$$. By 7:00 PM on Saturday, I was absolutely wiped. I’d like to think that if sober and well rested, my painting would have been worth bragging about, but alas...the cards were stacked against me.
 |
| "Untitled" by Josh Smith, the MOMA |
In regards to the wine, the hope was that it would bring out my creative side, the artist within, be uninhibited and all that. Instead, it just gave me poor judgement that resulted in the most awkward reeds anyone has ever seen. They just look like blobs on top of brown sticks. I don’t even think my students will be complimentary of this one.
Krystal: ...Although maybe there’s a place for our work in the MOMA.
Kate: Seriously. It may be due to my lack of taking an art history course, but since when is painting a canvas one color considered high art? That, I could have done yesterday. Next time, I might.
 |
| "Wine-y and Sleep Deprived" |
Krystal: And because good things, or even mediocre things, come in threes…
Kate: I’m pretty sure it’s bad things that come in threes.
Krystal: Riiiiiight. So how about those motorpsyches?
Kate: Motorpsyches you ask? They are one of my least favorite things. Let’s explain:
Krystal: So, a motorpsych, for you curious cats, is when you’re cruising for a parking space, slow creeping down the street or around a parking lot and AHOY! Looky there! It's a spot! With joy in your heart you put your blinker on, slow to a turning speed, and…
Kate: Rejected. Not until you start making the turn do you see a motorcycle there, or a tiny vehicle, taking up an entire space. Angrily, you curse the motorcycle for wasting a space that rightly belongs to someone with a real vehicle, and you move on feeling fooled once again by a motorpscyh.
Krystal: RAT BASTARDS! There is nothing worse than a motorpsyche...except for maybe...you know, real problems.
Kate: Touché.
PS. We reached 1000 views this weekend! Thanks so much for keep up with the Kardash...I mean, us!
No comments:
Post a Comment