Veni, Vidi, Ventus --
The randomly chaotic and crafty scribblings of a deranged, wannabe artist allowed too many colours in her Crayon box.

Surgeon General's Warning: Some content of "From Pooka's Crayon" may not be suitable for: work, blue-haired little old ladies, the politically-correct, rabid moonbats, uptight mothers, priests, chronic idiots, insurance claims agents, Democrats, children, small furry quadropeds from Alpha Centauri, or your sanity.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006


Not TMI, TMS -- or Too Much Shit.

So, I was looking in my purse of holding (just ask Jon -- and yes, Jon, I'm still using that same brown stressed-leather purse I had in DC), trying to find ... well, something, that completely escapes me now like most thoughts do these days.

Now, keep things in mind. In DC, my purse not only held all my vacation need stuff, but all of Jon's while we were out as well, with room to spare.

On the way to Houston for Christmas, knowing we had to go through some Really Bad Places to reach my parent's house, this same purse, along with all my necessary road trip stuff, held the Beretta, along with 3 full clips.

The asides done, as I went in, just digging and not looking (hey, we females usually don't have to look, we know what's in there) and my hand kept hitting metal. A lot of it -- and it wasn't the same thing, over and over. Curious.

So, in the spirit of "What the hell", I dumped my purse out for a regular cleaning. And found:

-- my mini-Swiss army knife
-- my Mini Pal punch blade
-- a 4" hooked Fury serrated knife
-- 4" serrated Gerber knife
-- and that I was missing my actual Gerber multi-tool.

I have four knives in my purse. Why in the name of screaming sweet baby Jesus do I have four knives in my purse? I could not tell you.

There's also a blow-torch lighter, my metal credit card Bill of Rights, an LED flashlight, and a bottle opener. Two pens, a notebook, copy of "Get a Grip on Physics", bottle of meds, 4 shooter's earplugs, bandaids, hairbrush, dental floss, powder compact, lip balm, packet of tissues. And a purple crayon.

Yes, not just any crayon, but a single lonely purple crayon in my purse.

Huh. So, I examine my bedside table, where I'm sitting.

-- 7 bottles of meds
-- three candles, two lit
-- 2 bottles of eardrops for chronic swimmer's ear
-- EIGHT tubes of lip balm
-- 2 bottles of moisturizer
-- scissors and hemostats
-- resin 'goblet' with half a dozen orphan jewelry bits
-- an uber powerful Sylvania Dot It LED light for emergencies
-- Oh, yes, and a fully loaded Beretta.

This makes me really not want to look at my desk.

1 am. Happy Birthday to me. I'm going to clean up my mess as a present to myself.

Now where the hell is my Gerber?

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