Thursday, June 23, 2011

Everybody Wants My Yoni. Even in France. (Plus some other stuff about wheels.)

When I check my stats, every single time, the post where I first announced this Etsy listing is the most visited.

I get emails about it, which sometimes lead to really cool stuff, like the other day, when I started a lovely Facebook friendship with a really darling tribal dancing mojo mama in Canada.

And before that, I was contacted by a group of witchy types in France who publish a calendar of moonish goddessy beauty and they, too, wanted my Yoni. I, being in love with the idea that I know a really infinitesimal amount of French insisted that they allow me to make a new drawing-poem en francais.

Then I forgot about everything except alternate ice and heat for 20 minutes and wear this brace and don't eat this eat that and take these pills no take these herbs now get a massage now get off your feet now stretch gently and drink this weird shit that looks like oil sludge and sick time and long term sick time and "can you open the shop for me? Again?" and then yesterday had a whole entire IDENTITY CRISIS in like 20 minutes on Twitter about the ArtWalk and whether I should take a wheelchair and go, and then I got a reminder from mes amies francais and realized I have a project due. So I'm drawing tonight.

However, I am getting my ass up at 8am Sunday and me and my Nana's wheels are going to cruise the Antique Street Fair at FestivALL than volunteer at an info table.

Problem is, Mr. Bones really hates watching me have fingertip sex with antique jewelry. So I need a pusher. Or, erm... a driver? A companion, if you will, lest I drive myself in circles with my one hand. (Horrific joke credit, my beloved. Twisted: we are that.)

So who's in, locals? HALP?

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