Wednesday, February 17, 2010

The Making of a Monkey Cup

Setting: At home. Doubled over. Latching on to my aching belly and moaning obnoxiously, theatrically. My body is furious, and I don’t blame it. I’ve just devoured a monstrous sandwich in seven minutes flat. (Between the rustic bread slices? Were three kinds of cheese, three thick slices of tomato, two greasy slabs of peppered bacon, mushy avocado, and way, way too much turkey.)

3:25 pm: The wine isn’t helping.

3:34 pm: Special Friend and I decide pottery-painting will be of service to our cramping guts.

3:37 pm: But first we pound the last of our $6.99 cab.

3:41 pm: Inspect my purple teeth, lips and gums in the bathroom mirror.

3:42 pm: Brush teeth to achieve purly whiteness, like the kind in the Crest commercials.

3:44 pm: Still. Purple.

3:45 pm: Hmm. I guess I don’t mind a purple mouth so much.

3:55 pm: Stop by Albertson’s for a six-pack of Mickey’s fine malt liquor. Because why the hell not?

4:13 pm: Arrive at Dipinto A Mano.

4:14 pm: “Is this place even open?” It's rather deserted.

4:15 pm: Grizzled, double-chinned broad welcomes us before we’re through the door.

4:18 pm: Grizzled, double-chinned broad explains the types of paints, types of items to paint, and the many, many painting techniques we might want to try.

4:34 pm: Grizzled, double-chinned broad is still talking about paint.

4:35 pm: I decide I sort of hate people who think they can talk forever about nothing.

4:36 pm: Must. Keep. Eyes. Open.

4:38 pm: I interrupt to ask for a pencil so I can start sketching my future masterpiece on a ceramic cereal bowl. And so I don’t fall asleep standing up.

4:39 pm: I don’t care about the type of wax that some pencil and/or led companies are using in their pencils and why that type of wax isn’t optimal for the fire ovens in which our painted crafts will turn into art pieces.

4:41 pm: I decide on paint colors.

4:42 pm: Finally.

4:56 pm: “I’d like a mandrill painted on my coffee mug, please, Special Friend.”

4:57 pm: Special Friend Googles photos of mandrills.

5:11 pm: We practice drawing mandrills and orca whales on scrap paper -- with pens, not pencils, as per the aforementioned wax problem.

5:46 pm: Special Friend is scared shitless to put ink on a clean, white ceramic bowl.

5:47 pm: So he sticks a piece of tape around the top instead. We’re off to a good start.

6:10 pm: Two little girls and their mom enter the store to make something of their own.

6:30 pm: We paint in silence. And in fear. We're really getting into this.

6:57 pm: Mmmm. Mickey’s.

7:20 pm: Paint, drink, sing along to an iPod playlist, one earphone in my ear and one in Special Friend’s.

7:24 pm: Little girls leave after creating artwork that rivals Picasso’s.

7:25 pm: We’re still here. Painting.

7:26 pm: And drinking.

7:32 pm: Special Friend spills a full bowl of water on me and soaks the table. Not sure if it’s an accident or not. We blame it on the Mickey’s.

8:02 pm: Grizzled, double-chinned broad takes our mug and cereal bowl. “Ohhh, what interesting images,” she says while lifting a bushy eyebrow, holding our artwork at arms length to get a better look, and then cocking her head to one side. She shrugs, plopping our creations on the shelf with the others to be fire-glazed.

8:04 pm:
We pay.

8:07 pm: "Did we just spend four hours painting animals on dishes?"

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