the remaining s7 queens as moms
  • Katya: original mom
  • Violet: skinny mom
  • Kennedy: dance mom
  • Miss Fame: mom who embarrasses you in front of your friends by making chicken noises
  • Kandy: your childhood friend's mom who you never saw despite going to their house every day after school
  • Pearl: milf
  • Ginger: christian mom with a bunch of those fish decals on the back of her minivan
  • Jaidynn: the "cool mom"
  • Max: grandmom

Koi mug, high fire stoneware

The design on this mug comes from a rice paper transfer.  Basically underglaze is screen printed onto rice paper, and then the underglaze is transferred to the greenware or bisque fired piece by holding the paper against the piece and wetting the back.  They’re fairly inexpensive, and you can find them on Etsy or through some ceramic supply retailers.

Still roaming the wilderness of Red River Parish, this time way out in the boonies. Passed a sign announcing I was in a community called–no shit–“Methvin.” Ominous. 

I’d been searching for this address for most of last week, and finally, slowing down enough, I realize a mailbox I’d passed a few times before has in fact two addresses posted on it: one of them is the address I’ve been looking for.
The house has an abandoned look to it: the ramshackle garage is full of what looks like wet trash, and the grass is high all around. The porch is screened-in, and when I try to open the front door, I find it locked, and so move around to the side, where an SUV with a Jesus fish decal is parked nose-first in a wooden shed that’s not quite long enough to fully cover it. 

There’s a door, and I can hear what sounds like a TV or radio blaring somewhere from the depths of the house, and I knock, but get no answer, and prepare to leave, when suddenly from the rear of the house emerges a bald man with a dangling earring, pushing aside the tall weeds and cradling a dog in one hand. 

I ask him the address, and he tells me the place I’m looking for is his brother’s house, and when I ask where it is, he gestures beyond the weeds, toward the woods. “Back there,” he says, and points out a crude driveway . I thank him and climb into my car.

The path I drive down is not by any stretch of the imagination a driveway. It’s basically little more than a pig-trail, a dirt path just wide enough for my car, snaking through the woods.

The drive itself is not actually that long: probably only a few hundred feet, but it feels much longer. The path ends at a wide open clearing, where a large old trailer, rusted and half-collapsed and hollowed out by the elements sat, surrounded by all manner of trash, old rundown cars parked at the perimeters and partially swallowed up by vines, slowly becoming part of the natural world.

I park and step out and find, behind the first trailer, a second, slightly newer one, itself in a terrible state of disrepair, but not yet in as extreme a state as its neighbor. There are no stairs leading to the front door, meaning the bottom of the door is set at about shoulder-height. If you were to open it and step out, you’d fall about five feet to the muddy, trash-strewn ground. The door is covered in blue handprints, as if someone had gotten paint on their hands and then blotted them off on the door. I walk around the side, looking for a back door, and find an attached deck, but the deck is rotted and halfway fallen in, and I can’t see any way to reach the back door, and so go back to the front, where I knock.

About that time, a little girl, about ten, comes around the corner: I ask her if a grownup is home, and she says yes, and leads me back around, where a balding man sits in a wheelchair. When I get closer I can see he is missing a leg. I find a position–still on the ground–where I can speak to him more or less face-to-face. I am standing next to a huge above ground pool, dry but for half a foot of scummy, mosquito-ridden water.

I finish my work and make my way back to the car, shaken as I always am, no matter how many times I encounter it, by this kind of almost cartoonish poverty, and mourning inwardly for the children living this life, and darkly curious as to just how dreadful the interior of the home must be. A few miles down the highway I pass a half-dozen buzzards clustered around the carcass of a roadkilled pig, and, miles and miles beyond that, on the other side of the river, in the last rays of the deserting sun, a lone coyote loping through a fallow field. 

Read my review of the items under the cut (’keep reading’)


FEATURED ITEM: Stick Figure Trackpad Sticker

Some quick links around the shop:

macbook decal favourites: fishes || running apple || falling cat

I own the picture and the caption, do not delete or change it’s source.

I hope this was helpful, reblog to spread the word!


P.S. If you wanna see a detailed review, click the link below!

Keep reading