When good ideas turn bad, and then turn good again.

Tonight a friend came over for craft night. We painted/decorated photo frames for Mother's Day gifts. Hers turned out uber-cute. Mine started out fine, but then I started sponging yellow, red and green onto a white background and it just looked awful. But THEN, I started smearing the red and it turned into a distressed antique look, which will go over great with my antique-loving Mom. I found a couple dried flowers and five glue-gun minutes later, I had a finished product:


Now I just need to finish it off with a "mother/daughter" vintage photo and I can send it off. I hope I have one of those.

Otherwise, not much has been going on lately. I work work work work work, which is mostly fine but kinda sucks now and then, especially since I've been going nonstop since April 16 and won't have a break until this Sunday. Her Majesty's seasonal allergies are back so we're back on the 'roids. The Clientele are coming to town on May 26, so I bought a ticket to that show. Blah blah blah.

And so, I consult my book. "Show some skin" sounds interesting and also very easy - which, to a very tired person who wants to keep up her blog, is just what I need right now. So here's how I got my scars:

• The scar above my left eye. I either had when I was born, or developed shortly after birth, a cyst there. I had surgery sometime before age 2 to remove the cyst.
  
  
• The scar under my lower lip. I don't remember how old I was (3 or 4 or 5?) but I was in my backyard on our swingset. It was a metal swingset with a slide in the middle, two regular swings on one side of the slide, and a bench swing (with a bench seat on either side - kind of like this only the benches had actual backs) on the other side of the slide. ANYWAY. I was across from our neighbor, who I had a crush on from age 3 to age 12, and we were swinging kind of high, and at some point I wound up on the ground. Thinking nothing of it, I got back on the swing but my neighbor turned slightly pale and pointed at my chin. When I looked down and saw all the blood I screamed and didn't really stop screaming until the final stitch was put in. I'm sure the E.R. docs just LOVED me that day.
  
  
• The scar on the top of my left arm, just above the wrist. I was 14, it was summer. As teens were wont to do back before skin cancer and global warming, I was sunning in the backyard trying to get a tan. When my time was up I attempted to go back into the house but the back door was locked. My brother was inside, so I banged on the back door several times but got no response. Begrudingly I went to the front door (it was during my chubby teen days so I was very self-conscious about being in a 2-piece in front of my neighbors!) and rang the doorbell for about 10 minutes. No response. I returned to the backyard and proceeded to bang on the door and window until I actually broke the window with my hand. Naturally, I seized the opportunity and reached through the broken window to unlock the door... only to snag my arm on a shard of glass. And by "snag" I mean sliced in such a way that bled profusely and required five stitches. ONLY THEN did my brother come upstairs and see all the blood and get pale and hug me and apologize and... Honestly, I think that's the last time he hugged me. And that's only because he probably realized the world of shit he was in once my parents got home.
  

So there you have it, my scars. If you want to name them, leave a comment.