Or Blind Color Guard -- could be either.
How bummed am I that there were no pictures of the Color Guard on the website. There were pictures of the PLAYERS and the CHEERLEADERS, but none of the Color Guard or even the Band. There were none of the Poms (or “dance team”) but that was because they sucked. Sorry Becki, I don’t think the ladies are going anywhere in competition this year. Frankly, they shouldn’t be going anywhere in those outfits, either. Instead of cute little skirts and whatnot, they now wear black spandex unitards. WHY? STOP THE MADNESS.
And so speaking of madness, let’s talk about the outfits that the Color Guard had on. Because the person that picked those out was either suffering from complete and total madness or was blind. Or both.
So the girls in Color Guard are generally not, um, slim. Some of them are, but let’s face it – the fat girls did Color Guard. At least at our school they did. This year is no exception – and so what in the name of all that is holy possessed them to choose these particular outfits?
Three words: Velour. Patchwork. Unitard. Three more words: What. The. Hell.
So as you may remember from yesterday’s post, our colors are green and gold FIGHT FIGHT! And so I think maybe the original idea of the color guard (and I hesitate to use the word “uniform” as there was really nothing uniform about those things) uniform was to do a kind of gold theme. “Hey!” they thought. “The band’s uniforms are green and black, so maybe we should cover the gold spectrum!” And they did. Cover the whole spectrum. The main color was gold velour – the shade of gold like on a couch at your grandma’s house. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I would say maybe it WAS grandma’s couch fabric. Somebody’s mom saved the couch for JUST SUCH AN OCCASION after they put grandma in the home and since it was practically brand new, it would be a shame to let all that perfectly good fabric go to waste, especially since it happens to be the school colors! What are the chances!
Anyway, where was I. Oh yes. Mainly gold velour. But the other main color was brown. So far, the color combination is not bad, but the problem starts when they piece it all together. Why WHY would you sew a vertical line of brown velour down the inside of the leg of the uniform? Did the crazy blind seamstress WANT these girls to be made fun of more than they already are? Come ON! So the brown pieces are “strategically” placed all down the unitard. Ok. Well, save for the inside leg piece, still not so bad. I mean, as long as you don’t consider gold and brown VELOUR UNITARDS bad. I do, but then I’m a shallow bitch.
Here’s where it all went horribly wrong. Someone thought “You know, we need some more color to really make this POP!” and so they added the sash. The sash was very wide – practically from ribs to hips, and it was BRIGHT YELLOW. It looked like one of those back supporter things that people who carry heavy boxes wear. Only in blinding lemon yellow (and I think there was even some sort of over the shoulder deal too -- I forget, what with the sensory overload and all). Maybe that’s what happened. The seamstress started out with the bright yellow sashes, got blinded, and then proceeded with the rest of the outfit. I’m really trying to work up something logical here as to how these outfits came to be, but I got nothing. I don’t understand.
So let’s recap – brown and gold velour. Unitard. Wide, bright yellow sash. But wait folks, we’re not done yet! What WHAT would be the piece de resistance for this fabulous creation? I’ve got it! There’s nothing SHEER yet. We need something SHEER. How about we attach a piece of sheer gold fabric around the right knee of the outfit so that it flows nearly to the ankle and when the girls move, it will flutter gracefully. But only on the one knee. Perfect.
I don’t know what song the band was playing. I don’t know if the color guard was good, though I don’t remember anyone dropping anything, so maybe they were. All I can remember is the five of us, sitting there laughing our asses off.
The best part was my dad. He hardly ever rips on people’s outfits – he’ll chime in every once in a while, but he mostly leaves it to my mom and I. Anyway, he leans over to my mom and says “Yes, those outfits ARE pretty ugly. I’ve been trying to accept them, but I just can’t.”
Me neither, dad. Me neither.
*Now this is where I put in the disclaimer. Yes, I ripped on the Color Guard. That is what this post is about. I criticized their outfits. I made shallow and rude comments. I don't want to hear "oh so you're so perfect you can judge" or some equally ridiculous things from people up in arms about how I'm shallow and rude. Frankly, I say good for those girls for getting involved in school activities and for having school spirit. Maybe next time they could tone down the spirit of the outfits. I’m just sayin’.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Monday, October 17, 2005
...And we'll cheer as our team passes by
We're loyal and steadfast and true
To our colors of green and gold FIGHT FIGHT!
Yes, I know my high school fight song. No that is not the whole thing. No, "gold" does not rhyme with "true." Yes, it bugs me.
So we went to our high school’s homecoming game on Friday night. I think the last time I went to homecoming was the year after I graduated, when it was cool to go because you’re a big FRESHMAN in COLLEGE.
Karen and I thought it would be a great idea to go this year – not sure why, but whatever. We got there fashionably late – and would have gotten there sooner if we hadn’t gotten overzealous about parking and also misjudged the distance from the parking lot where we were to the actual stadium. We knew it would be pointless to try and park near the stadium, and so we saw a car turning into a parking lot and we followed them. Brilliant! We congratulated ourselves on finding a spot with no trouble – after all, we wouldn’t be stuck in traffic after the game since we’re parked right down the street. We soon realized that “right down the street” was actually “8/10ths of a mile” (we clocked it later). So after a brief hike, we made it.
Amber: “You know, I’m looking at this bridge thinking what a great place it would be to hang out and drink if you were in high school, but I’m also thinking how unstable that fence looks and how if someone drunk fell against it, they’d certainly end up in the river. How sad am I?”
Karen: “We’ve lived in Lakewood our entire lives and we still can’t figure out that where we’re parking is nowhere near the stadium? How did that happen?”
We entered the stadium and found some seats in the “old people” section. It was pretty full, and I was like “My parents are here somewhere, but I doubt we’ll ever see them.” The sentence was no sooner out of my mouth than I turned around and saw my parents. They were waving at me from about 10 feet away. We went and sat with them, further cementing our status of “SO not cool,” but they had a fuzzy blanket to sit on and also? I’m 29 – my cool factor with random high school kids went out the window YEARS ago. In fact, I was never cool, so I didn’t care.
A conversation between me and one of my 7th grade youth group girls I ran into):
Kid: “I didn’t know you were a Bear Creek fan”
Amber: “Well, I went there.”
Kid: “Really? I didn’t know that.” (Said in a tone like “wow – they had high school back then?”)
The first thing we noticed was how LITTLE everyone was. The cheerleaders looked about 12. Maybe. Even the football team was tiny, it seemed like. Karen and I kept expressing our amazement at the fact that the players seemed so small, but I think it might just be that we’re imagining her husband John and Not Boyfriend (both who were on our football team in high school) as they are now and they dwarf those tiny babies on the field. We actually kept forgetting to watch the actual game because we were busy people watching and making comments. I’m sorry, not to be all parenty or anything, but my god the girls are skanky these days. It’s like 50 degrees out and they have on tiny little tank tops that basically cover nothing. Hello? Did their parents not see them leave the house like that? Geez. Put on some clothes or something.
Karen: “I’m really hoping that I didn’t just hear that girl down there introduce that baby she’s holding as ‘my baby.’ She cannot possibly have a baby – is she even IN high school?”
Pretty soon, Not Boyfriend got there. Keep in mind, this could have been awkward for a couple of reasons: 1) he’s never met my parents and 2) I didn’t tell him they’d be there. But since he’s self conscious about exactly zero things, it didn’t phase him a bit. He met my parents and sat down as if he hung out with them all the time and fell right into our humorous family banter. Example: My mom was cheering and did this screechy kind of scream thing so I was like “Uh, mom? You’re not quite in the realm where only dogs can hear you, but you’re pretty close and also? My eardrum. Ow.” And Not Boyfriend chimes in “I don’t know, there might be a couple of dogs out there going ‘What? What?’” And he imitates a dog perking up its ears and looking around. Of course my mom just thought that was so funny. She later told me that she could see why I like him, because we’re so quick and funny together. She never says nice things about a boy I like after meeing him once. NE-VER. Even my dad had something to say, which is also weird, because he generally doesn’t say anything at all. I THOUGHT we were sitting with my parents, but now I’m just not sure.
Not Boyfriend: “Uh, we’re totally sitting in the ‘uncool’ section”
Amber: “Where did you want to sit – over there with the kids?”
Not Boyfriend: “Yeah, so they can look at each other and be like ‘uh, somebody’s dad’s here.’ I’m going to go with ‘no.’”
Karen, Not Boyfriend and I left during the 3rd quarter because not only are we uncool, but we are also old and it was getting kind of cold out there. Plus, our team was losing – therefore yes we are, as Karen pointed out “fair weather fans.” My parents stayed the whole time and it ended up that we won in overtime. Which was good since it was homecoming and also we’re 6-0 for the season and that would have been a crappy first game to lose. The game was relatively injury free except for one of the tiny little players who broke something and had to be taken away in an ambulance, thereby dashing the dreams of some girl who was SO EXCITED to be going to homecoming with a FOOTBALL PLAYER.
And lucky for us, Not Boyfriend parked basically right outside the stadium – in the DIRT because he drives a TRUCK – and so he drove us back to our car, thereby saving us the three quarter mile hike of potential danger. Because we weren’t wearing the proper shoes for that.
Anyway, the best part of the whole game was halftime (What? I will freely admit that I watch football either under duress or in anticipation of the halftime entertainment). But that’s a whole story in itself, and plus I’m hoping that the pictures of the game will be up on the school’s website in the next few days because it’s a story that needs pictures. Let’s just say it involves the Color Guard and leave at that for now, shall we?
To our colors of green and gold FIGHT FIGHT!
Yes, I know my high school fight song. No that is not the whole thing. No, "gold" does not rhyme with "true." Yes, it bugs me.
So we went to our high school’s homecoming game on Friday night. I think the last time I went to homecoming was the year after I graduated, when it was cool to go because you’re a big FRESHMAN in COLLEGE.
Karen and I thought it would be a great idea to go this year – not sure why, but whatever. We got there fashionably late – and would have gotten there sooner if we hadn’t gotten overzealous about parking and also misjudged the distance from the parking lot where we were to the actual stadium. We knew it would be pointless to try and park near the stadium, and so we saw a car turning into a parking lot and we followed them. Brilliant! We congratulated ourselves on finding a spot with no trouble – after all, we wouldn’t be stuck in traffic after the game since we’re parked right down the street. We soon realized that “right down the street” was actually “8/10ths of a mile” (we clocked it later). So after a brief hike, we made it.
Amber: “You know, I’m looking at this bridge thinking what a great place it would be to hang out and drink if you were in high school, but I’m also thinking how unstable that fence looks and how if someone drunk fell against it, they’d certainly end up in the river. How sad am I?”
Karen: “We’ve lived in Lakewood our entire lives and we still can’t figure out that where we’re parking is nowhere near the stadium? How did that happen?”
We entered the stadium and found some seats in the “old people” section. It was pretty full, and I was like “My parents are here somewhere, but I doubt we’ll ever see them.” The sentence was no sooner out of my mouth than I turned around and saw my parents. They were waving at me from about 10 feet away. We went and sat with them, further cementing our status of “SO not cool,” but they had a fuzzy blanket to sit on and also? I’m 29 – my cool factor with random high school kids went out the window YEARS ago. In fact, I was never cool, so I didn’t care.
A conversation between me and one of my 7th grade youth group girls I ran into):
Kid: “I didn’t know you were a Bear Creek fan”
Amber: “Well, I went there.”
Kid: “Really? I didn’t know that.” (Said in a tone like “wow – they had high school back then?”)
The first thing we noticed was how LITTLE everyone was. The cheerleaders looked about 12. Maybe. Even the football team was tiny, it seemed like. Karen and I kept expressing our amazement at the fact that the players seemed so small, but I think it might just be that we’re imagining her husband John and Not Boyfriend (both who were on our football team in high school) as they are now and they dwarf those tiny babies on the field. We actually kept forgetting to watch the actual game because we were busy people watching and making comments. I’m sorry, not to be all parenty or anything, but my god the girls are skanky these days. It’s like 50 degrees out and they have on tiny little tank tops that basically cover nothing. Hello? Did their parents not see them leave the house like that? Geez. Put on some clothes or something.
Karen: “I’m really hoping that I didn’t just hear that girl down there introduce that baby she’s holding as ‘my baby.’ She cannot possibly have a baby – is she even IN high school?”
Pretty soon, Not Boyfriend got there. Keep in mind, this could have been awkward for a couple of reasons: 1) he’s never met my parents and 2) I didn’t tell him they’d be there. But since he’s self conscious about exactly zero things, it didn’t phase him a bit. He met my parents and sat down as if he hung out with them all the time and fell right into our humorous family banter. Example: My mom was cheering and did this screechy kind of scream thing so I was like “Uh, mom? You’re not quite in the realm where only dogs can hear you, but you’re pretty close and also? My eardrum. Ow.” And Not Boyfriend chimes in “I don’t know, there might be a couple of dogs out there going ‘What? What?’” And he imitates a dog perking up its ears and looking around. Of course my mom just thought that was so funny. She later told me that she could see why I like him, because we’re so quick and funny together. She never says nice things about a boy I like after meeing him once. NE-VER. Even my dad had something to say, which is also weird, because he generally doesn’t say anything at all. I THOUGHT we were sitting with my parents, but now I’m just not sure.
Not Boyfriend: “Uh, we’re totally sitting in the ‘uncool’ section”
Amber: “Where did you want to sit – over there with the kids?”
Not Boyfriend: “Yeah, so they can look at each other and be like ‘uh, somebody’s dad’s here.’ I’m going to go with ‘no.’”
Karen, Not Boyfriend and I left during the 3rd quarter because not only are we uncool, but we are also old and it was getting kind of cold out there. Plus, our team was losing – therefore yes we are, as Karen pointed out “fair weather fans.” My parents stayed the whole time and it ended up that we won in overtime. Which was good since it was homecoming and also we’re 6-0 for the season and that would have been a crappy first game to lose. The game was relatively injury free except for one of the tiny little players who broke something and had to be taken away in an ambulance, thereby dashing the dreams of some girl who was SO EXCITED to be going to homecoming with a FOOTBALL PLAYER.
And lucky for us, Not Boyfriend parked basically right outside the stadium – in the DIRT because he drives a TRUCK – and so he drove us back to our car, thereby saving us the three quarter mile hike of potential danger. Because we weren’t wearing the proper shoes for that.
Anyway, the best part of the whole game was halftime (What? I will freely admit that I watch football either under duress or in anticipation of the halftime entertainment). But that’s a whole story in itself, and plus I’m hoping that the pictures of the game will be up on the school’s website in the next few days because it’s a story that needs pictures. Let’s just say it involves the Color Guard and leave at that for now, shall we?
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but birds will never hurt me -- much
It was the summer before my freshman year in high school. I had made the cheerleading squad and was mastering the fine art of the herkie. If by “mastering” you mean “looking as if I suffer from grand mal seizures” while I tried in vain to bend my leg in just the right way. But we’re not talking about my short lived cheerleading career.
We’re talking about how I used to be pretty accident prone. If I could trip over it, I would. Bump into it? Done. I have scars that have stories. Not just “I fell off my bike,” but “I fell off my bike after my dad convinced me that it would be a great idea if we BOTH rode it home from the park at the same time because he didn’t want to walk and then we wiped out and I was so mad that I made him carry me up the hill to our house while wheeling my bike.” Not just “I fell on a rock” but “I fell on a rock when I was running at top speed across the playground to catch my friend who secretly sold candy at our elementary school and that’s a fact I’m leaving out of the story I’m telling my mom about how this happened because she frowns on candy.” And not just “I skinned my knee – again,” but “I was doing a perfect approach on the diving board in front of the hottest lifeguard ever and when I came down for the spring off the board, my knees buckled and I fell ever so gracefully into the pool where I wanted to stay underwater forever or at least until his shift was over.” Those are the kinds of scars I have.
Anyway, I have now reached the point of this post, which is a story about the aforementioned summer and my proclivity for injury. I had a parakeet at the time, and when cleaning the cage, I used to blow the empty seed shells out of the cup and into the trash can. On this particular night, I got one in my eye, which had happened before, so I just rubbed it and then I went to bed. When I woke up the next morning, my eye kind of hurt, and I was looking in the mirror trying to see what the problem was. The light hit me just right, and I could see a little birdseed shell embedded in my right eyeball – just on the edge of where the white meets the color. I told my parents, but downplayed it, because I was supposed to be leaving that morning to go to Vail with Beth and her family and I wasn’t about to miss that. So off I went with my painful eye.
The whole point of Beth and I's vacation was to be in the pool. All the time. Hey, I thought, maybe the water will wash the birdseed out of my eye.
Or perhaps the impact of my face hitting the bottom of the pool might jar it out of there. This was the time when I became a proponent of not diving into shallow pools – it’s just not a good idea. So yeah, I dove into the water and I hit my face on the bottom of the pool – one of those pools that had the rough concrete bottom. I came up, and my face is covered with blood. I had a fist sized bruise on my forehead, and I had managed to skin the bridge of my nose, right above my lip and my chin. I looked so pretty. Beth’s mom was loathe to return me to my parents looking like I had been severely beaten with an unusually rough brick, but I assured her that their reaction would probably be to roll their eyes and apologize to her for having to deal with the results of my hyper “leap before you look” life philosophy.
So I get home, and I have to go straight to the doctor because remember? The birdseed was still there. My doctor put this little piece of paper in my eye that apparently numbs it, and then he said “hold on while I go get my really big needle.” Pediatrician humor, apparently. So as I am no fan of needles, I started to get all teary, until I realized that tears might wash away the numbing stuff. So I watched him dig the seed shell out of my eye (a very weird experience) and he says “Well, it’s a good thing it didn’t go a fraction of an inch into the color, otherwise you’d probably be blind.” Wow, his bedside manner is FABULOUS. He then gave me an eye patch and sent me on my way. Arrrrr.
I didn’t have to wear the eye patch for very long, however I did have to go to freshman orientation looking, well, like I looked. Orientation that included getting our school i.d. and yearbook pictures taken. I don’t think I have to tell you who got retakes that year.
Anyway, I think I’m still a little bit accident prone, but thankfully not as much, especially since I live alone. I’m dreading the day my mom finds me lying on the floor, when, because I was too lazy to get out the ladder, I jumped up to grab the curtain rod over the couch, came down, misstepped, and landed in the fireplace. Not that that happened. It’s one of those things that COULD happen though. But it hasn't. Really.
We’re talking about how I used to be pretty accident prone. If I could trip over it, I would. Bump into it? Done. I have scars that have stories. Not just “I fell off my bike,” but “I fell off my bike after my dad convinced me that it would be a great idea if we BOTH rode it home from the park at the same time because he didn’t want to walk and then we wiped out and I was so mad that I made him carry me up the hill to our house while wheeling my bike.” Not just “I fell on a rock” but “I fell on a rock when I was running at top speed across the playground to catch my friend who secretly sold candy at our elementary school and that’s a fact I’m leaving out of the story I’m telling my mom about how this happened because she frowns on candy.” And not just “I skinned my knee – again,” but “I was doing a perfect approach on the diving board in front of the hottest lifeguard ever and when I came down for the spring off the board, my knees buckled and I fell ever so gracefully into the pool where I wanted to stay underwater forever or at least until his shift was over.” Those are the kinds of scars I have.
Anyway, I have now reached the point of this post, which is a story about the aforementioned summer and my proclivity for injury. I had a parakeet at the time, and when cleaning the cage, I used to blow the empty seed shells out of the cup and into the trash can. On this particular night, I got one in my eye, which had happened before, so I just rubbed it and then I went to bed. When I woke up the next morning, my eye kind of hurt, and I was looking in the mirror trying to see what the problem was. The light hit me just right, and I could see a little birdseed shell embedded in my right eyeball – just on the edge of where the white meets the color. I told my parents, but downplayed it, because I was supposed to be leaving that morning to go to Vail with Beth and her family and I wasn’t about to miss that. So off I went with my painful eye.
The whole point of Beth and I's vacation was to be in the pool. All the time. Hey, I thought, maybe the water will wash the birdseed out of my eye.
Or perhaps the impact of my face hitting the bottom of the pool might jar it out of there. This was the time when I became a proponent of not diving into shallow pools – it’s just not a good idea. So yeah, I dove into the water and I hit my face on the bottom of the pool – one of those pools that had the rough concrete bottom. I came up, and my face is covered with blood. I had a fist sized bruise on my forehead, and I had managed to skin the bridge of my nose, right above my lip and my chin. I looked so pretty. Beth’s mom was loathe to return me to my parents looking like I had been severely beaten with an unusually rough brick, but I assured her that their reaction would probably be to roll their eyes and apologize to her for having to deal with the results of my hyper “leap before you look” life philosophy.
So I get home, and I have to go straight to the doctor because remember? The birdseed was still there. My doctor put this little piece of paper in my eye that apparently numbs it, and then he said “hold on while I go get my really big needle.” Pediatrician humor, apparently. So as I am no fan of needles, I started to get all teary, until I realized that tears might wash away the numbing stuff. So I watched him dig the seed shell out of my eye (a very weird experience) and he says “Well, it’s a good thing it didn’t go a fraction of an inch into the color, otherwise you’d probably be blind.” Wow, his bedside manner is FABULOUS. He then gave me an eye patch and sent me on my way. Arrrrr.
I didn’t have to wear the eye patch for very long, however I did have to go to freshman orientation looking, well, like I looked. Orientation that included getting our school i.d. and yearbook pictures taken. I don’t think I have to tell you who got retakes that year.
Anyway, I think I’m still a little bit accident prone, but thankfully not as much, especially since I live alone. I’m dreading the day my mom finds me lying on the floor, when, because I was too lazy to get out the ladder, I jumped up to grab the curtain rod over the couch, came down, misstepped, and landed in the fireplace. Not that that happened. It’s one of those things that COULD happen though. But it hasn't. Really.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Animal House
So remember when I said in the drawing yesterday that we had two cats and a dog on the bed with us the other night? I thought maybe you'd like to meet them.
Hello. I'm Thatcher. See how adorable I am? When I look at you with my puppy eyes, don't you just want to let me do whatever I want to? This is the look I will give you when, at 3 in the morning you get up to go to the bathroom, and when you return not two minutes later I am comfortably snuggled into your place in bed as if I'd been there all night. Because maybe that will fool you into thinking "Huh. Maybe I've been sleeping elsewhere and mistakenly ended up at this bed where this dog has CLEARLY been for AGES. No no, don't get up. I'll sleep somewhere else." And if you're not fooled? Well, I'll just refuse to move. You can't actually SEE my precious brown eyes in the dark, but they will be saying to you "Finders keepers also applies to warm spots in bed -- nice try, sucker!" as you unsuccessfully attempt to push me towards the bottom of the bed. Are you fully awake now? Super. Ok, NOW I'll move. Good luck falling back asleep!
In all honesty, she's really the sweetest dog ever.Hi. I'm Littlepuss. I am a Princess. I am the boss of this house and everyone in it, so you should probably just come to grips with that right now so that we can move on to you doing what I want you to. See when I meow like that? It means that you must feed me right now because I haven't eaten in MINUTES. What? Yes, I know there's still canned food there, but hello? It is now afternoon and that is when you give me my crunchies. Have you never taken care of royalty before? Hop to, peasant!
She is also very sweet and will pretend that she doesn't really care much about you, but the jig is up when you wake up and she's sleeping right next to your head.
Hey dudes. I'm Purrman, and I'm totally a boy's boy. I mostly hang out in the basement because that's where the big screen t.v. is and the manly exercise equipment and also my dad's office where I help him tie flies. I'm not exactly sure what that is, but it involves a lot of feathers and fuzzy things that are excellent for batting around, so it's cool. I will purr up a storm and snuggle with you if you are downstairs, because that's what men do. They purr. I will also sit behind you on the couch and lick your head because I love you and I'm not afraid to express my emotions -- I'm very evolved. And when you sleep at night, I will get under the covers with you. If by some chance you're already asleep when I'm ready to get under the covers, I will paw at you or maybe put my face mere inches from yours so that my tickly whiskers wake you up. We men understand the art of sublety when it comes to getting what we want. What? Stop laughing -- men can TOO be subtle.
He looks sort of mean here, but he's SO not -- it's probably because he was surprised by the camera flash and is not amused by it. In reality, he's a snugglebug.Monday, October 10, 2005
A total of two people will understand this drawing (and one of them is me)
So I was housesitting at Sally and Joe's this weekend (I know -- I sometimes wonder why I even have my own house) and Ian was there and so this is basically how we spent Friday night. We had aspirations of taking pictures, but we're also easily distracted, so that didn't happen.
And yes, I realize that most of this stuff is totally "you had to be there." But hey, it's a drawing and it describes the highlights of the weekend. I say highlights, because I didn't do anything remotely interesting the rest of the time. I mean, where's the fun in drawing myself taking multiple naps, watching t.v. and other such fascinating activities? Believe me -- there is no fun there.
I just sat there laughing to myself as I was drawing this because Ian? He makes me laugh. A lot.
View the full-sized drawing here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)