Crisis-oline. Aka The F*cker

I’ve realized I may be having a crisis of sorts. It really didn’t become very very apparent, until I realized that there was a $400 violin in my trunk. And I have no idea how to play. And it had been sitting in there for 24 hours after the initial purchase. Also, the same day I bought it, I got a new tattoo. I’ll work on getting a decent pic of that. With my asshole camera. Which is also new.

Have I mentioned that I work in a thrift store, part time, at minimum wage? When I’m not very casually touching feet as a reflexologist, oh, maybe once or twice a week. When I’m not very very casually reading tarot cards?

Crisis.

Some shit had gone down last week. Big hairy stupid dramatic shit. But it’s all good. Because I bought a Crisis-oline. And I will survive. I’ll tell you all about it when I’m not fucking raw and losing my shit.

There’s a happy dude dancing beside The F*cker. That’s what I call the Crisis-oline when it makes that horrific squeaky noise… mostly on the e string. So, Crisis-oline is also sometimes referred to as The F*cker.
eeee! eeeee! eeee! It’s terrible. I can’t believe I bought it. I’m a gawdamn SINGER. How does one sing and play the violin? I should take a picture of The F*cker. But not in the shower. To show you what throwing away $400 looks like.

Anyway. Happy Dude.

And, grout still not clean. Don’t care today.

F*cker.