I've discovered a new talent.
Puff-painting t-shirts. No, really.
Okay, stop laughing. Yes, they still sell puff paint. No, I'm not tragically re-living my youth.
Erf got a work study job at a youth organization at a local rec center, and came home one day with a blank t-shirt that he said he wanted my help decorating. Cause I'm all
autistic artistic like that.
He wanted something with 'flames' that looked 'really cool'. So off to the local WalMart to purchase some puff paints and tweezers (because Erflet, for the second time, absconded with my tweezers and had moved them to god knows where).
We put Erflet to bed, and I got to work. Enter some Jeff Dunham's Spark Of Insanity, because I love Peanut.
3/4 of the way through the shirt, my dad knocks at the door. He asks if I want to go and do some shots with him. Um, yeah! But... Can I finish the shirt please?
So he sat down and watched Peanut and Jose Jalapeño with us. ('A condiment?' 'I do not use them.') This is what Erf's shirt looks like:
Pretty cool, huh? I thought I did a pretty good job, if I do say so myself. So off to a local sports bar we went. Which, hi? Sweet and sour mix is not the same thing as margarita mix. But tequila is tequila... Then I made my big mistake. I told my dad I wanted to do a shot of tequila. I've never shot tequila before, unless you count the shooter of Patron - and let's face it, Patron is in a whole different class from Cuervo. My dad orders two doubles, and orders mine with 'training wheels'. I scoffed. I did a double shot of Jack Daniel's with him WITHOUT A CHASER, didn't I? I could handle tequila. He smiled, and looked at the bartender.
"Serve hers with training wheels."
So after some instruction on how to shoot tequila (apparently, there's such a thing as too much salt), I lick my hand. I apply salt. I shake off the 'too much' salt. I lick my salt-covered hand. I raise the plastic cup (yes, they served the shot in a PLASTIC FUCKING CUP. Ghetto, yo) and shoot the tequila. Midway through, I realize that tequila? Tastes like fucking vomit. Tasting anything remotely vomit-flavored usually triggers my harf-reflex.
I sucked hard on that teeny, tiny lime wedge let me tell ya.
And realized there's still a half a shot in the cup. Shit. My mouth is watering uncontrollably, and I have no clue how I'm gonna taste that again and not vomit. However, the second half-shot wasn't nearly as bad as the first. Perhaps it was the salt. Anywho, I headed home - slightly buzzed, very happy - and did some buzzed intarwebz surfing.
Erf goes to work and comes home with a handful of t-shirts and a box of various colored puff paints.
Guess who got volunteered to decorate shirts without being asked? Yeah, it wasn't Bob Ross. So I thought I'd share photos of my pretty shirts with you, kittens.
I am now going to find a plain t-shirt in my closet and make a shirt that has my blog's tagline across the chest:
"Giving Jesus his money's worth since 1985"
Should I put my blog name and URL on the back, or would that be tacky? What do you think, kittens?
Also, there will be food porn coming soon. I have lots to catch up on, so get ready for some porn-picture heavy posts!