Just call him Amelia Owlheart.
He’ll be okay. His mom packed him a lunch.
Even my cartoon owl is better at flirting than me.
Yeah, baby. He’s a sexy beast.
In which hope flares again, briefly, then smashes on the ground like so much mint chocolate chip. Mixed metaphor, boom!
Actually, it’s a mixed simile. Is that a thing? I’m making that a thing. I feel like there should always be a sad trombone at the end of these little … Continue reading
Saturday! Time for sparklies.
Among the many hobbies/crafts/idiosyncracies that have forced me to admit to Manic Pixie Dreamgirl tendencies is the fact that I make shrinky-dink jewelry. Like this: Most of these are necklace … Continue reading
By the way, I lurve P’s blue period. Also quite fond of the rose.
I don’t so much get Cubism; I mean, I get it, I understand what he was doing and why and it makes sense, it just doesn’t move me on an … Continue reading
The unicorn asked that his face not be shown for personal reasons. His name is Buttercup McFoofytail, though, so I blame his parents.
. . . and nothing bad happens to him at all. No, really. This particular adventure has no horrible twist, other than the fact that he spent his delightful unicorn … Continue reading