Put a Smock in It

As part of a committment to include more tactile hobbies and non-drinking activities to my social calendar, I have signed up for a beginner's painting class at a local arts center. I'm taking it with my friend Katie, and I can actually thank her for creating the impetus to get involved.

Tonight is our first session, and I am like a kid anticipating the first day of school.

You know the feeling—you have your Trapper Keeper ready, filled with clean sheets of wide rule paper and color-coded folders, your pencils are sharpened and nestled in the pink plastic pencil box that you painted your name on the top of with puffy paint (so wishing you had an "i" in your name so you could dot the i with a big dollup of shiny paint), the new backpack's tags have just been removed, your lunch is made and waiting in the fridge in a plain brown paper bag, and the carefully chosen first-day outfit is laid out on the bedroom floor.

OCD starts early, people.

Anyway, dreaming of all the fun paints we'll use (I think we'll dapple in watercolor, oil and acrylics), I am feeling a bit nostalgic for one of life's greatest inventions: the Crayola 64 box, complete with a built-in sharpener. Not that you ever DARED to use that horrible contraption—no way. It would gnaw and chew up the precious crayons, and would damage the little wrapper that boasted fun color names like Burnt Sienna or Goldenrod Yellow. You just liked knowing you HAD a sharpener. When it was time for a new crayon because you'd had a good run on Pine Tree Green that month—or, DEAR GOD, one of the colors broke, I am pretty sure I weaseled and begged for a new box to replace the whole thing. That way I had backups for each color, you see.

I just love how the adorable crayons stand in those neat little rows, somewhat resembling a class picture. Each of them is perfect when you open the box, and the smell is something I'd know anywhere.

This year marks the 50th anniversary of this special invention, and Crayola celebrated the milestone with the introduction of eight new "Kids' Choice Colors." For you history buffs (that means you, Cox), the iconic box first debuted on the Captain Kangaroo show in 1958. Remember that show? Do you recall the lovely Mr. Green Jeans? Rest in peace, good man.

My love for crayons wasn't undervalued. My Mom is an artist, and therefore, appreciated the obsession with the perfect box of crayons. In fact, she must've talked about how much she loved them so much because on my parents' 30th wedding anniversary, my Dad (quite the romantic) gave her her own brand new box of Crayons. Yep. She was 53. I think it was her favorite gift ever.

And, I'd be willing to bet the sharpener is still unused. The (Fire Red) apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Borrowed Laughs

This was just too funny, and familiar, not to share. Please visit the proper author of this post at The Nuts Are Running the Squirrel House. You'll be glad you did.

And, do us all a favor. DON'T BE THESE PEOPLE.
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Being in a classroom atmosphere has reminded me of how there always seem to be a few “special” people in attendance. (Not necessary this specific class, but generally.) Here are some people you may have had classes with before.

Clicky McClickerson - Constantly has a click-type pen in hand. Waits until everyone is concentrating, and then begins the rhythmic audio torture, oblivious to the pain of everyone else. I think I speak for everyone when I say, “Clicky, put the pen down, or I will put the pen down for you. And by “down,” I mean, “in one of your less comfortable orifices.”

Sniffy McSnifferson - For the love of all that is pure and holy, please just blow your nose. And then, if you feel a bit of nasal drippage again, use the tissue to wipe it away. Don’t sniff so much. Or so hard. I think I had a pen in my hand a minute ago.

Bouncy McBouncerson - You are moving the WHOLE table! Seriously! Take some meds. Or make sure you’ve gone through your withdrawals before work. If I wanted everything around me to shake, I’d move to California.

Chewy McChewerson - It’s cool to chew ice. If you’re alone. If you are around me and I hear you chewing ice, I will assume you need help crushing the ice, and will help - with my fist.

Wrappy McWrapperson - When it’s really quiet in the classroom, there’s no way you’re going to open that bag of chips or piece of hard candy unnoticed. Bite the bullet and open it quickly, don’t drag it out into a 5-minute production of trying to gently open the bag. If you do drag it out, I will wait until we are in the lunchroom, then loudly ask you if that rash has gone away yet.

Whispy McWhisperson - Usually Whispy is a girl who, for whatever reason, knows the answer to a question in class, but doesn’t want to say it at regular volume. This basically says, “I know the answer, and I’d like those around me to know I know the answer, but I just don’t have the courage/energy/confidence to commit this answer to my vocal cords.” I’ve found that if you taze Whispy everytime she tries to answer under her breath, she eventually stops. Well, stops moving. Turn that tazer down a notch.

Mouthy McMoutherson - Along with Chewy, this classmate thinks that others enjoy listening to the wonderful sounds that they can make with their mouth. Whether it is chewing loudly, making “tsk” sounds, or clicking their tongues, these people must be stopped at all costs. Normal assault laws do not apply in this case - you can act with impugnity. Suggestion: Use large sticks.

Breathey McBreatherson - Yes, we know you can breathe. And really, you’re quite good at it. We just don’t want to hear EVERY FREAKING ONE of your breaths. Clear your sinuses, close your mouth, and we’ll all get along just fine. (WARNING: Breathey may morph into Sniffy if he manages to clear his sinuses, but they start running. Hold on to your pen if you don’t want it to become a casualty of Sniffy’s nasal vortex.)

There you have it. I’ve given you an update, and reminded you why your blood pressure skyrockets around other people. You’re welcome.

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*I am really wishing I had written that. Hilarious...it applies to meetings, too. And you've all been there. I had to restrain myself from tearing the pen out of a Clicky McClickerson Client once. And it was a pen that, regrettably, I'd put in front of his place at the table. Woe the day.