Hey Jakey,
It's freezing outside. No, literally. It's not just a wee bit chilly outside, it's frickin' fuh-REEZING. 33 degrees F. I'm holding out hope for two of the squashes that had a good foothold to begin with. The other two, not so much. I dragged the tomatoes inside, and they've been sitting in the, er... foyer... for a couple days, cuz this crappy, cold windy weather started Monday night. So they've been languishing inside, sunless, for too long.
Momma's got the most sensitive nose of anyone you will ever know for as long as you live. Don't try to hide cigarettes from me, or any other types of smokables. Or drinkables, for that matter. I can smell it on you. I can smell you from behind a closed door. I can smell the different layers of disasters that have befallen us since we moved here, years after the fact: the barely contained garbage can fire in the garage (4 years ago), the long-gone mildew that resulted from a burst pipe in daddy's bathroom (one year ago), the infamous missing container of garlic marshmallow bait in your daddy's car (5 years ago). It's a curse. I'm hyper-sensitive to smelly things. Other people's perfume makes me retch. The smell of burned food makes my hair stand on end. Daddy's in charge of the No. 2 diapers cuz a big ol' pile of steamy poo will make me vomit. Yeah, that I smoked for over 20 years amazes me, too.
I mention this because I'm sitting here in a devastatingly smelly pajama top. Last week you brought home some other little kid's jacket in your backpack. It reeked of some sort of toxic fabric softener, so I thought I would do this kid's mom a favor, and wash it before I sent it back. I threw it in a load of wash, and it made everything in my wash smell toxic. Two washes later, everything is still smelly. I know I'm a little militant about this shit, but the thought of that kid's mom clothing him in a blanket of super-fragrant chemicals that defy elimination makes me nauseous.
Anyway. Look at this!
I made a billboard! I forgot that it was going up yesterday, so rounding the corner and seeing it staring me in the face on my way to work was like being punched in the stomach. It will change out with my tahoe.com design later this year. I'm still stoked that after wanting to live here for years and years, I now not only live here, but I've now designed the artwork that greets people as they, too, come to this area. Sure, my billboard's on the ghetto side of town, but I can live with that. In my next post, I will tell you of the aesthetic travesty that has befallen my little billboard-that-could.
Here's my little Lostie daughter in her new "Changing Station" onesie:
s'All for now. Love you. Sleep tight.
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