#carpet square

[disnerland]

The very best way to get a round DISNER COOLTOWN VACAY is with BIG RED LOBSTER. Look! Wow! Goooooooo!

[quotelist]

emotional support carpet square

[fullfrontispiece]

Nap Time “Get your carpet squares out, it’s time for a nap”

[kleptomahoushoujo]

Oh, this is from a few years ago, but I still like it.

[anthonybatteryartfoundations]

Mission Documentation: For my carpet square, I decided to (and just as I was typing this I realized this wasn’t the weekly mission but whatever I’m pretty proud of the carpet and its concept) cut out the word “Pure”. Ironically, the carpet is stained with several different substances. I’m not sure why but this idea just sorta popped into my head when we were given the carpet, so I was pretty excited to see it play out just as I wanted. As for the meaning, it’s pretty obvious. There’s no such thing as a pure human being, nor is there such thing as someone who’s been perfect and innocent throughout their entire lives. We have entire religions working towards creating perfect people who show what it means to be goodhearted, while at the same time people following and promoting these values have themselves committed and done things that would go against the idea of being pure. The reason a bride’s dress is white is because it symbolizes purity and innocence, but in reality there’s no guarantee that she really is pure in that sense.

The point is there’s no such thing as pure, and no matter how much people want to deny it, we’re all a little tainted and that’s what helps build character. I also unintentionally carved the E backwards, but I like to think of it symbolizing the strange backwards standard we’ve imposed on our society today.

[almosthanners]

Barf Girl - Part One

I was going through my old Creative Writing journal, and I found a three-part piece that I wrote on and off for about a month.  I'm not sure why I haven't uploaded this yet.

My earliest up-chuckle-inducing memories are from kindergarten.  When I moved to Bel Air, it was the first time I had ever ridden a school bus, which may account for my rebellious equilibrium. 

I used to live in Box Hill, within walking distance of William S. James Elementary.

In addition to Mrs.  Smithson breaking my spirit, kindergarten was a rough transition for me.

There is a certain St. Patrick’s day that comes to mind.  We ate a snack of green eggs and ham (this was back before kids were allergic to everything, and before parents routinely threw hissy fits if their child was not on a strict diet of rabbit food).  During story time, we were read the Dr. Seuss book, “Green Eggs and Ham.”

I distinctly remember sitting on my carpet square and explicitly telling Mrs. Smithson that my tummy felt yucky.  She told me to shut up and listen.  When they passed out the dyed eggs and ham, I told her again.  She told me to shut up and eat my snack.

This “snack” is something that would make a healthy person want to toss their cookies.  I couldn’t stop thinking about how the green scrambled eggs looked eerily similar to boogers, and as a kindergartener, those were only okay if they were mine. 

I tried to warn her.  When Mrs. Smithson noticed the pureed boogers and ham on my carpet square, she had no one to blame but herself.

Valentine’s Day is tough for a lot of people – especially if you are me as a five-year-old.  I recall feeling fine all morning, especially excited about presenting my nugget-like friend Fred with a valentine.  But as I neared my class room, I felt sicker and sicker.

I crossed the threshold and immediately ruined my classmates’ Valentine’s Day.  I spent the next hour in the nurse’s office, waiting for my mom to come and pick me up from school. As I picked forlornly through the paper bag of valentines that had been sent for me, I couldn’t help but get a strong feeling that something was wrong with me.

Sure, I couldn’t control it this particular time, but there have been times where I’ve ignored the big red flags. 

I learned the hard way that you can’t eat an entire tube of toothpaste just because it has Big Bird on it.  And that just because you’re supposed to smell perfume doesn’t mean it goes up your nose.  Benedril is tasty, but deceptively so.  And I guess playing with bleach is a no-no.  Didn’t Mr. Yuck teach me anything?

I think (or at least hope) that I’ve learned better as an 18-year-old.  I think my mom still has poison control on speed-dial, and to be honest, I’m glad she does.  Who knows when I’ll drink dish soap next?

At least I seem to have ipecac in my veins.