It's Monday morning. Everything is as it should be. My phone has already rung 293772 times, because the phrase "works" from home apparently eludes everyone.
Talu got up from sleeping with me to go rest on her blanket on the couch. It is like she is 147 years old. How much sleep do dogs NEED?
Henry is busy destroying my favorite chair. Note the scratching post RIGHT NEXT to his ass.
Francis looks berserk.
I'll bet Winston is being good, though. He always...HEY!
In the meantime, let me tell you about my exciting vending machine experience. I know! I really know how to set up a story. Make you die for more.
On Saturday, Marvin and I went to Winston-Salem. Exotic! Oh, the foreign lands we traverse. Anyway, there is yet another mansion built from the black lungs of cigarette smokers that we visited, called Reynolda House, which was the house and grounds of R.J. Reynolds and his sort of gold-digger wife. I mean, she was a small-town girl who set out to have a mansion one day, then boom, the next part of the story is she marries R.J. Reynolds. They fail to tell us how she scored him.
At any rate, there is not only a big ol' house, but also gardens, and many many smaller houses which used to house the workers and now are magically ice cream shops and jewelry stores, where ironically no smoking is allowed.
The first thing we did was go to the rose gardens, which were spectacular, and we noted that as per usual, it was us and 470 old people. Marvin and I are always finding things to do that old people similarly like to do. I have no idea where the people our age are. Are they doing dreadful things with their kids, like seeing G-rated movies? Then trying to tell me said G-rated movies are good, they have things for adults, too? My friends with kids are always trying to tell me that when they are attempting to convince me to go see, say, Shrek when I don't have to because I have no kids.
So we're looking at every color rose you can think of, and I am busy deciding which one is my favorite, because I'm exciting that way, and Marvin says, "But where are the guns?"
Get it? Cause...guns...and...roses? Oh. Help me.
Then we go into the mansion itself, which cost 10 dollars per person, except they had teacher and AAA discounts, so when all was said and done they owed Marvin, and oh, there was lots to see in that mansion and I tried not to think of my Uncle Jim and his lung cancer. Or my grandmother. Or my grandfather. Or all my various great aunts and so forth who had esophageal cancer and mouth cancer, who all smoked. Because you know what I am? Fun.
We got to tour the master bedroom and master bath, and for some reason old-timey bathrooms fascinate me. I love the old tiles and porcelain and this one had a big old scale. I look over, and who is unbuttoning his pants at the toilet, thinking he's hilarious? While OTHER TOURISTS were about?
Also too, we were admiring the various paintings and furniture and doo-dads, and Marvin gasped and said, "Ohhh! Look at this!"
He was admiring the fire extinguisher.
Who loves himself?
Anyway. In the basement of said mansion, where there is a swimming pool, a shooting gallery, a bowling alley, a bar, and all kinds of stuff you don't have because you didn't invent cigarettes, there is also a gallery that has different exhibits. Because did I mention Reynolda house is technically a museum?
In said gallery is a vending machine that used to be a cigarette machine, but now instead of a picture of cigarettes there is an image of the guy from Operation, do not ask me why. It was called an Artomat.
Here is a similar one I found online, except this one doesn't have the guy from Operation. I was never allowed to have the game Operation because my mother said I would get the pieces everywhere. In case you are keeping track, there is a lot of stuff I was not allowed to have because my mother was obsessed with me getting pieces everywhere. For a loosey sit-on-the-floor-and-discuss-our-feelings hippie, she was awfully tidy.
At any rate, could YOU have been able to resist this vending machine? For five dollars, you got a small piece of original art. HOW COOL!
Naturally I put Mr. Abraham Lincoln right in there.
This was the one I chose. An original piece by Nikki Wheeler. Yes, I do already have her blog address. The box was the size of a cigarette package, except I think the one package of cigarettes I ever smoked in my life, Virginia Slims in 9th grade, was larger.
When I opened it up, I got this. It is sort of a quilty material and I love the colors. I hope celebrated artist Nikki Wheeler comes over here and sees how nicely I cropped these photos.
So I want to hang up my art. Where should I put it? Also, I wish to go back to the machine and buy 75,000 more. Marvin said there's a bar in Winston-Salem called The Garage that also has an art vending machine. I am so hittin' the bar. With my big-drinking self. Hi, just here to buy some $5 art.
Inside the box was also a note, from the artist formerly and currently known as Nikki Wheeler. The whole thing is so cool! Who got the biggest thrill of her weekend for five dollars? No holla!
Anyway, that is all. I must go proofread something. And answer the phone.
