Girlfriend found out you can’t just jump to Tuesday.
Two words: WHY. NOT.
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makin' art real talk
Monthly Archives: March 2016
gotta run
Someone needs to talk to me about a work project at 4:50 on a Friday? Get real. I’m out of here so fast, I’m not even checking my waistline to see if it’s still attached.
dance of life
Hey, Tulla Larsen. LIGHTEN UP. You look so goddamn serious about a dance, and yeesh!, after researching this work, I’m starting to realize why.
Edvard Munch (moon-ck, btw) met Larsen in 1898. He’s 35, she’s 29. There’s a lot of issues with Munch, so I’ll spare you…but let’s just say, him being jealous probably a.) isn’t new, and b.) not surprising. Scholars seem to think this is less a tableau, and more a documentation of a woman experiencing ravaging lust and love.
Stage One (left): Girl in white, pretty, bored.
Stage Two (right): Girl in white, taken by a creep. Again, Munch’s jealousy enters strong here; scholarship believes the male counterpart is some playwright Larsen was apparently having an affair with.
Stage Three (center): Munch back with Larsen, dancing some angry tango I think I’ve seen on Dancing with the Stars (BACK MONDAY, MARCH 21ST!!!!) Also, how Kardashian is Munch’s ass?!
Stage Four (far right): Larsen, pissed af, jaded + slighted. It’s what you get for going out with Munch, Larsen.
But wait, the stuff gets better: Edvard Munch got shot in the left hand in an attempt to break up with Tulla Larsen. He always said his hand’d constantly reminded him of the “three wasted years” of his life. Baha, I always have that feeling of regret…but it’s usually about the large pile of candy wrappers I have on my desk after reading my horoscope.
as if
My trainer told me that I can eat cereal for breakfast. What my trainer doesn’t know, however, is this particular cereal is made with marshmallows, chocolate frosting, and three legit scoops of Nutella.
Spring Break bod never looked so good.
oldenburg cake
I deserve every single square inch of this Claes Oldenburg Floor Cake, but I’m more about Portillo’s (seriously, DM for shipping information).
salome
So, King Herod didn’t just boss the Wise Men around; turns out, the dude divorced his wife, only to marry his brother’s (which, her name was Herodias…no, actually).
Enter new stepdaughter, above. Salome parties and does, like, the most seductive dance to the point that Herod’s completely fawning for her antics. He asks what she wants more than anything, and girlfriend goes ahead and asks for John the Baptist’s head on a platter.
Seriously!? Girl. Puh-leeeze. You can have anything and you ask for someone’s decapitation!? I’d rather just have like, Frye boots or a well-catered dinner party or something.
Though, cheers, since you are easily the sassiest queen, sittin’ back with that platter and knife like you ’bout to do it yourself. Henri Regnault isn’t messin’ with your hair either.
madam brion
“No, really, please continue to tell me about all the fun you had this weekend. I’ll just continue to drink my detox tea and throw daggers at you with my eyes while wishing away my double chin.”
This is actually me almost every Monday morning in the work lounge. / It’s so hard to pretend I didn’t know what you did, but I watched your Insta feed like it’s my job.
christ.
No use in even setting the table, Madame Vuillard. It’s Sunday night, and you know what that means…tomorrow’s Monday. Goddamn Monday.
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