I love this cat print from Audrey Jeanne, even though it’s common knowledge that boys don’t make passes at pussies in glasses. They pretty much only make passes at pussies in edible underwear, pussies in hot tubs and pussies that act as serving dishes for warm Corn Nuts. It’s the white trash version of eating sushi off of naked women, and trust me when I say it’s all the rage in Arkansas.

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via Dallas darlings We Are 1976

While I can clearly see the aesthetic appeal of this music box, the movement of which causes the barley to sway, I can’t shake the aw-shucks, redneck, hillbilly flavor of swaying barley. SWAYING BARLEY. Yeah, that’s some kissin’ cousin bullshit. I’m pretty sure this is the next thing those beer-eating bumpkins are gonna deep fry and mouthfuck at the State Fair of Texas.

Thanks to the mind behind lolawesome (and behind my cubical wall), I have recently become aware of Zip Code Honey. The Dallas company places beehives in yards and on roofs around town – there’s even one on the roof of fancy-pants eatery Bolsa – and sells their citified honey down at the Dallas Farmer’s Market. This is fantastic news for me. If I had my own beehive, I’d train the bees to fly in the shape of a man and buzz in Morse Code. They’d join the police force and become the world’s best cop. And when they weren’t cornering bad guys on the mean streets of Dallas and oozing crime-preventing sticky stuff, we’d just sit around and chat. I’ve just been dying for some intelligent conversation on Middle East politics.

Sometimes we’re let out of our cages to terrorize the city. Or at least avoid the 112 degree heat index in an air conditioned bike shop.

There are two factors that’ll make us break our own rules and stand in close proximity to a bunch of fixies: talented friends and Texas summers. Seriously, Dallas, what the fuck?

By the way, I’m taking volunteers to dust my dashboard. Which isn’t a euphemism, but probably should be.

Anyspray, Nikki an I strapped on our bitchfaces and headed to Transit Bike Company to make like an underwire pushup bra and support the tits out of Connor Hill and Matt Brinker, aka The Magnificent Beard. They do sweet-ass shit like this:

So what are the morals of the story? The Beard on the left (Connor) is more talented than you will ever be. The Beard on the right (Matt) is also more talented than you will ever be. And, finally, if you’re supporting your friends anywhere near The Gap,  Nikki will bully you into buying half price t-shirts that you don’t even want in the first place. Fact.

This weekend my mom and I went to check out the White Rock Local Market bi-monthly locals-only farmer’s market. I’m not one to dole out praise. Complimenting people gives me hives. But this market is awesome. It’s held the second and fourth Saturday of every month at the Green Spot on Buckner.

Since I hate anything that requires getting up early, putting on sunscreen, sweating profusely and operating a motor vehicle I figured I’d grab some organic tomatoes and get the eff out of there. But we ended up hanging around for an hour and sampling delicious baked goods from Village Baking Co., fresh lard-free tamales from The Tamale Company, organic produce from Farmer Jones, homemade jams from Rosey Ridge Farm, and some fantastic Viognier from Brennan Vineyards.  Plus I got the boys from the Texas Olive Ranch to pose for this sweet-ass photo after sipping a spicy olive oil they claimed was made with real rattlesnake. Whether that’s true or not, it was totally delicious.

In conclusion, forget whatever you had planned for the second Saturday in August and go get your socks White Rocked off. You’ll be glad you did because anyone who isn’t out there supporting our local businesses is going to have to answer to my fist. He has a PhD in physics so you know the questions will be real hard.

Every now and again, we are let loose from our cages to roam the countryside in search of craft fairs and greasy food.

Last weekend I braved a massive rainstorm and the flooded, decrepit highways of Dallas to make the 3.5 hour drive to Austin to a) bum free room and board from my beloved brother and sister-in-law, b) attend the first-ever Austin Renegade Craft Fair, and c) eat a bunch of pork and fried sugary sweets.

The craft fair was great. To start things off there was no entry fee. Yay! To continue the party, there were women without breast implants, blonde updos and Spanks. There were men who probably don’t wear Axe body spray (plus 2) but definitely do wear sandals (minus 1 for Hobbit feet). Still a net gain. The booths were great, and in spite of the massive crowd, no one was punched, stabbed or otherwise maimed.

Shirts from Campfire.

Posters from Two Rabbits Studios. I bought the wolf with socks, so don’t even think about copying me.

Presidential Pillows from a wahl designs

Me in the Magnolia photo booth with my brother and sister-in-law, who literally ducked out of this photo to avoid the embarrassment of an association with the literary atrocities of this blog.

We did a tour of the best of Austin’s oh-so-trendy trailer park eating and got some Holy Cacao Cake Balls at the South Austin Trailer Park & Eatery.

Here I am near some cake balls. Use your imagination.

I just find this sign hilarious.

And, here are some other artists I thought were really cool but didn’t photograph because taking photos makes me feel like a jackass:

McCheek’s Ceramics

Krank Press

Gnome Enterprises

I took my Mom on a tour of historic Dallas homes for Mother’s Day this year. When I wasn’t having an extremely violent reaction to a new medication (not Valtrex) that caused me to puke my guts out in multiple port-a-potties and then writhe around on my bathroom floor for an hour, I was pleasantly surprised by some unique design choices. My favorite? This rich motherfucker used enormous diamond bricks in place of firewood in her mansion. They told me they were quartz crystals, but I know how rich people work: by the forces of sheer ostentation. It’s also evident in the giant flattened emerald above the mantle, the petrified unicorn tear chandelier, and by the fact that this house was located in the ritziest zip code in all of outer space.

Everyone needs a spirit animal, and I think I just found a new one. Up until just now, it was this guy, but I think he’s been trumped by the wolf bitch. Mostly because hairless bats don’t have B-cups. But I wish they did, because how funny would it be to motorboat a hairless bat?

wolf boobies

Artist Corinne Loperfido is showing at Handmade Austin Women this weekend. I stole this information from RoomFu, and I’m not giving it back.

Much like putting on an old pair of jeans and finding a twenty dollar bill in the pocket, I was just stumbling around the internet looking for art to post and found a new nickname for my boobs. That’s the same, right?

Not only do I love this painting, Escape, by Dallas artist/designer Nathan Trimm, but it’s given me my new favorite rack-vernacular: Meat Balloons. God Bless it.

I also feel the need to point out that I’m 99% sure that I had a Drawing class with Mister Trimm in college in 1998. And also, maybe we exchanged Christmas cards once. Which makes me realize that I must be the inspiration for the whole meat balloons thing. Dudes, my rack’s been epic since like ‘96.

On Saturday night, Nikki, Krista and I went to the Art Conspiracy auction / concert / party benefiting Resolana. The address said 511 Commerce, but the cross street was BEAVER.

Laugh. It’s still funny even if you’re not this many (FYI, I’m holding up six fingers here).

They had bands, which were good but made it too loud to talk. That is really unfortunate because pretty much every eligible single person in Dallas was there and no one could lay down any game. But, not all the eye candy was ass…

… Some of it was art, which was intermittently auctioned off live.

Unfortunately, when you get the three of us together we burn with the hotness of a thousand suns. Suns that look like Marylin Monroe, so the hotness is both literal and figurative. Anyways, we were burning their shit down, so we had to leave. But not before posing for this rare threesome photo. It’ll be famous someday, so cut it out and put it in your scrap book.