My mom watched Amanda Palmer's "Leeds United" video today. (At my insistence. Cool as my mom is, she does not sit around watching the Dresden Dolls' YouTube channel while she's supposed to be working.)

(Like someone else we know whose name begins with a "K" and ends with an "elly," and who is a pain in the ass of everyone she works with.)

Mom commented appreciatively on Amanda Palmer's drawn-on eyebrows, then let fly her criticism.

No, not of Amanda Palmer.

Of me.

"Wow. And you thought you were tearin' it up by wearing a miniskirt to the Dresden Dolls concert. I don't see a single person who's not in their underwear."

For the record, it was, like, 2 degrees in Birmingham that weekend.

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One of the many reasons I wish I was Amanda Palmer is that it would be really cool if people just started making out with whoever was next to them whenever I came around. Like they apparently do when Amanda Palmer's around. Although no one tried to make out with me when I went to see the Dresden Dolls, which, to be truthful, was something of a disappointment. I wore a miniskirt and everything!

That's something Americans need more of: "Makin' out to Faces of Death."

(No, I didn't just make that up. COME ON, Y'ALL. I'M NOT THAT WEIRD. It's from "Guitar Hero" on Who Killed Amanda Palmer.)

Y'all really need to go buy that album if for no other reason than you'll know what I'm talking about half the time.

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I sometimes think I'm clever, but other people rarely agree.

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So let's talk about someone who is quite clever:

The multi-talented arthursimone!

In addition to being a fantastic artist (I CAN HAS ORIGINAL ARTHUR SIMONE?), Arthur's also the Air Sex Champion. Which is pretty much the epitome of everything awesome. Though not necessarily the epitome of everything tasteful.

(None of those people are Arthur. Arthur's way better at Air Sex than any of those fools.)

Anyway, Arthur's having a solo exhibition at Lewis Gifts in Shreveport from Black Friday until Christmas. At some point during the holidays, there will also be a meet-the-artist event, which I will likely talk about excitedly every day for a month. (Please note: I will also agonize over what to wear every day of that month.)

Congratulations, Shreveport! You're doing something cool! Keep it up.

So you should really go to Lewis Gifts and see Arthur's paintings. And buy one. Or four. You know, as gifts. For someone you know whose name begins with a "K" and ends with an "elly" and who is a pain in the ass of everyone who reads her blog.

If you go to Lewis Gifts and Arthur's there, ask him to show you his mad Air Sex skillz. I bet he'd do it, too, if you asked really nicely. Or bought a painting.

Off to plan my outfit.

And stand in front of the mirror practicing begging Arthur to show me his mad Air Sex skillz.



Your pain-in-the-ass
Kel

Right Now It Looks Like I Will Have to Leave Birmingham

Commentary later, my dears. Meanwhile, it's nice to be back.



Your happily tired
Kel

P.S.

365-Day Photo Project

P.P.S. Mere's pictures

So Hef went with his family to the Bahamas last week.

I know, right? WE HATE HIM SO MUCH.

Anyway, so before he left, Hef was like, "What do you want [as a souvenir]?"

Naturally, I said, "SOMETHING FOR MY TACKY SOUVENIR COLLECTION, PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE!!"

I didn't think he'd really oblige me. (Hef is kind of the least tacky person you'll ever meet. Tackiness is no joke with this man, trust me.)

So in the midst of spending a relaxing week in the beautiful Bahamas (for which we all HATE HIM SO MUCH), Hef took his brother and sister-in-law on a Tacky Souvenir Buying Spree.

It went something like this:
Hef: "Our mission, should we choose to accept it, is to find the tackiest item in all of the Bahamas for Harley's [Hef calls me Harley] Tacky Souvenir Collection. She's already got a coconut monkey, so that's the question we must ask ourselves: Is it tackier than a coconut monkey?"

Hef's sister-in-law: "Um. I really like shopping, but this does not sound like so much fun."

Regardless, the Hef Family put its shoulders to the wheel and their noses to the grindstone and found what must surely be the tackiest souvenir not only in the Bahamas, but ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD. They found lots of good stuff, apparently, but they questioned themselves again and again: "Is it tackier than a coconut monkey? No? Well, then KEEP LOOKING."

Finally, Hef found it.

FINALLY, it arrived on my doorstep. The packing label actually says "ATTN: HARLEY"

Inside, I found 6 metric tons of bubble wrap and this note:

It's not Coconut Monkey.
But tacky nevertheless!
Keep your treasure safe!

P.S. I put in extra bubble wrap for your popply pleasure.

Without further ado, I give you, ladies and gentlemen (and everything in between)

THE TACKIEST SOUVENIR EVER!!



YESSSSS!!!



Your treasure-hoarding (and bubble-popping)
Kel