Sarah Rebecca Leu. Age 6

This is "My Book About Me", circa 1979.

Written by a 6-year old kindergarten girl named Sarah Rebecca Leu. (That's me.)

The book is full of facts about me including where I lived, my favorite things, how many forks I had in my house, etc. I filled it in with my big fat adorable kindergarten writing. It sits on my studio bookshelf and I get a kick out of perusing it from time to time.

One of the most important things in a little girl's life is her favorite color. Though I still enjoy pingk and all colors, greegn is my preference today. Tomorrow it might be glurple and the next day something different.

Art is still my favorite subject just as "Hurt 101: Introduction to Emotional and Physical Pain" is my least favorite subject. I'm a very good student if it's something that interests me. I am interested in gobs of different subjects at any given moment and it changes constantly, as I get bored quickly and thrive on finding new brain stimulation. A handful of current obsessions include learning yoga, finding inner peace, clean eating, old R&B music, "Friday Night Lights", the victorian era, drawing with a black Sharpie, how to make my bulging arm veins look smaller, raccoons, this blog and this blog. I am an awful student if I have to figure out board game instructions, read a chick lit novel, follow driving directions, talk politics, or organize my junk drawer.

I still have several of my 6-year old girl qualities. This can be good, and not so good.

GOOD (the short, but very important list):

• My imagination

NOT SO GOOD

• Attention span
• Impulsiveness
• Not wanting to shower
• Paint/marker stained hands
• Spilling my almond milk, water, or whatever is in my cup.
• Finding dried food on my face several hours after consumption
• Finding dried food on my face the day after consumption
• Talking in robot voice to my family which used to generate smiles but now annoys them because once I start I can't stop.
• Talking in an English accent so I can feel sophisticated. This too, annoys everyone but me and goes something like this:

"Mom, stop it!"

"Why no dahlings, I'm bloody mahd and I musn't stope untel you clean up yoah bahthroom".

"Pleeeeeeeeease Mom! AAAARRRRRRG!"

"My. superiors. told. me. i. can. stop. if. the. little. human. with. blue. eyeballs. will. push. my. reset. button."

"Not the robot! Stop all the voices!"

Sometimes I am a 6-year old in a body 31 years my senior. Only my family and a select few of my close friends see 6-year old Sarah. If you met me, you would think I was friendly and outgoing and I pull off 30-something very well.

As I said before, drawing has been on my study list so I've been goofing around with a single black Sharpie and learning how to digitally color said drawings, along with writing and letting my imagination wander into the 6-year old world of Sarah Leu.

Because zebras enjoy straws even more than I do.

We would also shoot trap wearing our matching ripped-at-the-shoulder plaid flannels and trim the split ends on each other's mullets. If I can keep my 6-year old attention span focused, I'd like to create a series of "If I Had a..."

Only this blind, wise owl knows when the world is really going to end. And when my PMS is going to start.

Sushi had a difficult time keeping friends because she was such a square. I enjoy making up nonsense like ridiculous names and combining things that just don't go together like Beatles songs and geometry.

Many of the items I sell in my vintage shop come with a story. Some of these become drawings like the one above, inspired by these slippers.

I try hard to see my cup half full as much as possible, but I absolutely have those moments when it is half empty or evaporated. Whether it's full or empty, it's almost always upside-down.

I moonlight as a professional dreamer.

When I wake up with a zit the size of a unicorn horn, I feel like Hattie. Have I mentioned that I love dark humor? Except when it's on my face.

I find the strange quirks, qualities and habits of people so charming. I did this drawing for a friend of mine who is not bipolar, nor a polar bear. She does, however, hate goat cheese and tissue boxes.

For a friend who cannot start her morning without a Mountain Dew.

Purple rain was pouring down all over him in his previous dream. Prince was holding the umbrella.

Old Blue Eyes on the ipod makes me want to croon in front of my mirror wearing my fedora. (Hey mirror, wanna hang out Friday?)

I'm a sucker for dots and plaid. And fuzzy caterpillars.

Totally crushing on Bill Withers lately. "Lovely Day" has been playing on repeat an awful lot. When Bill Withers is singing to me that he is going to have a lovely day just by looking at me, it makes my knees quiver. Drawing people has always been something that scares me.

Now when I get scared to draw people or share my art, I will tell my shadow to back the hell off and go annoy a peacock. And then I will draw people. Take that, scared self.

It would be even more fun if Yes came with.

My name is Sarah.

I think life can be much more inspiring and joyful if you look at the world through the eyes of your 6-year old silly and curious self.

I say put on your best pingk glow and give it a go.

Germ Freak

Sweet Love has pinkeye. Gross, green gunk oozing out of his nearly 6-year old eyes.

Today I had to drag him to one of my most feared places on earth.

The clinic.

I have no problem dumpster diving, digging through a barn scattered with mouse crap or bug infested basements looking for treasures. Hell no. I love that. I just know I'm more likely to catch acute nasopharyngitus from the pen that I used at the check-in counter of the clinic versus the filthy turn-of-the-century pharmacy bottles that I found laying in a dusty basement.

You see, I am a bit neurotic about germs.

I am the girl who quickly analyzes which door handle will have the least amount of sick germs on it before I grab it. {The furthest door on the left because more people enter on the right using the left hand door because more people are right handed} and then wrap my sleeve to grab it or use just my pinky finger. If I had better balance I'd probably open doors with my feet. It's always a good day if I can time it when someone else is going in and I can breeze through 3 inches behind them.

I am the girl who, if you have a snotty nose and phlegmy cough and enter my house, will disinfect the door handle and/or anything else you have touched after you leave.

I am the girl who only touches an elevator button with her knuckle.

I am the girl who would never, ever come close to anything in public that is constantly touched by people. I balance on escalators and cringe when my kids and husband grab hold of the rail. Then I see them touch their nose and I want to die.

I am the girl who goes into cardiac arrest when the kids come home from school and tell me someone threw up in their class. Followed by the question, "Honey, did you play with Suzie Throwup today? How far away do you sit from her?"

I am the girl who will do as much self diagnosing online as possible, so I can remedy the sickness without going into the clinic. Unfortunately, my PhD is in Family Guy episodes and not medicine so I cannot prescribe the drugs necessary to cure what ails me and my family. Since some cases of conjunctivitis call for eye drops, I had to plummet to the depths of germ hell for over an hour with Sweet Love and his green goop.

I scan the waiting room for the safest place to sit.

Not anywhere near the nose blowers.

We will sit in a galaxy far, far away from the lady hunched over with sunglasses on. Something tells me this is not just a hangover.

Sweet Love and I settle down across from an elderly lady with a walker and oxygen tank. Other than her breathing machine, she looks healthy as a horse, so I probably won't get some airborne virus by sitting across from her. She looks adorable dressed in a white nightgown with the predictable curly-white-old-lady-hair complemented by her white pasty skin. As I listen to the rhythmic hissing of her breathing machine, my gaze goes down to her feet.

Right below her age spotted cankles I see the shoes. A pair of killer old school moccasins with a beaded eagle motif. She has no idea the shoes she is wearing are super duper cool. She doesn't give a crap because at this stage in life, she's going for comfort.

I love her. This adorable little old lady with breathing machine and sweet kicks.

I wonder what her life story is.

Then I smile.

And I forget about germs for awhile.

Me Loves

Loves me.

Loves me not.

Loves me.

Me loves the Hipstamatic iphone camera app.

Hipstamatic iphone app loves me,

loves me not,

loves me. back.

Hipsta brings out my ridiculous playful side.

He doesn't judge my dork side. He embraces it.

I am so charmed by Hipsta's old school qualities.

and I don't mind when he over-exposes himself.

Here I am holding my Academy Award

for Best Supporting Goofball in a Self Photographer Series.

Which I dedicated to Hipsta, my biggest supporter.

He sat proudly in the front row.

Beaming though his lens and clapping loudly.

Never Too Old

Caved on new kicks the other day.

Same as the pair I wore in 7th grade.

Only those were high tops.

And I stitched some palm tree beach scene on the sides with colored embroidery floss.

Was told I was too old to wear these.

No way. Nada. Never. Nope. Not.

When I'm 92 I'll be hobbling around in my walker.

The spray painted baby blue walker with the ribbons on the handle-bars.

It'll be easy to pick out among the sea of walkers with the tennis ball bottoms at the nursing home.

Horn on the front.

Outta my way dirty old geezers, I'm late for Bingo.

Beep beep.

Or perhaps a blaring loud air horn so their big ol' ears can pick up on it.

Hobbling.

Faster than the average old lady.

Andele! Andele! Arriba! Arriba!

I will name my walker Speedy Gonzales.

Hobbling.

In my Converse-All-Star sneaks.

Baby In Blue Gets Picked Up By Impulsive Girl

Almost embarrassed to admit my most recent impulse buy:

Look at that face.

How does someone leave their baby at Valu-Thrift?

Luckily, he wasn't lying in a woven basket at the front door, crying hysterically.

He was behind glass in a large and dirty wood frame.

I laughed out loud when I saw him.

Laughing at item = tossing in cart.

First thought after bringing him home: Shitballs. What am I going to do with him?

Second thought: A peanut butter banana honey sandwich sounds really good right now.

Third thought: I'll just take a picture and maybe he'll come in useful sometime.

Sweet Love mascot?

Or..........

And lastly, my personal favorite:

Two Thousand Ten

Isn't she oozing with sweetness?

Not realizing how stinkin' cute she really is.

Just pedaling along, ringin' the bell, in sassy sandals with lace trim socks.

Lipstick red shades.

Not a care in the world.

Not thinking about trying to balance life. Or what to make for supper.

Not thinking about flossing and Crest White Strips.

Not psychoanalyzing her issues.

I sometimes wish I could be that girl for one day.

Again. That was me almost 3 decades ago.

I still wear pigtails. (Not as cute)

And big sunglasses. (Still as cute)

I still like to dress up. On the days that I'm not in sweats and my red plaid flannel.

Pretty sure that outfit is going to start walking around on it's own.

I'm still sweet. Most of the time.

When it's not most of the time, I can be a big turd.

A grown-up tantrum of sorts.

Except I call it, Mom's. Gonna. Snap.

Or, momsgonnasnap.

Or, MOM IS GOING TO SNAP!!!!!!!!!!!

I've changed in other ways too.

My wheels have evolved from 3 to 4. Plus an engine.

I have smile lines and crow's feet. Just means I smile a lot. Not that I'm getting older.

I'm not terrified of helicopters anymore.

They don't send me screaming, sobbing and running hysterically in circles yelling, "HELLEEEEECOPTEEEUUUURRR!!!! HELLLLEEEEEECOPTEEEEUUUUUURRRR!!!

My mom says I sounded like I had a french accent when I did this. Tres chic.

I don't drag around a white blanket that resembles swiss cheese from the holes.

Instead of white lace trim socks, occasionally I'll have one sock inside out and one sock right side in. By the time I notice that one is inside-out, the inside, which is now the outside, is dirty, so I leave it that way. A quirk that I keep telling myself is cute.

I don't constantly sniff Strawberry Shortcake's hair.

But I would if I had her. She was so sweet.

So am I. Most of the time. Except when I'm a turd.

And still a little sassy.

And a tiny. bit. bad-assy.

An Ugly. Vintage. Creep.

Dear Creepy-Clown-On-Thrift-Store-Shelf,

You scare me.

You are not coming home with me.

Maybe this guy will find you:

And eat you for dessert.

Creepy Creation

Up for grabs in my pretend store,

Ugly Love Vintage.

You can find it in Aisle 10,

Creepy Creations.

Next to the row of ceramic nipple mugs.

Three's Company in my mind:

Jack.

Janet.

Chrissy.

Not:

Disturbing naked family.

Grody.

Weakness. The Happy Kind.

I have a strong dislike for "The Price Is Right" game show.

Come on down! So I can trip you and make you bleed, Price Is Right.

Who watches that show?

Game shows are not a happy weakness of mine.

Exception: Old Match Game reruns from the 60s.

Minus the host with creepy grin, Gene Rayburn.

Board games? Another story.

Other things that make me swoon:

Tiny little things

Art, art and more art

Funny bedheads

Licking the cake/muffin/brownie batter and frosting beaters. (Yes, I share with the kids)

Dogs in Halloween costumes

Old games

Family Guy

Vintage boots

Black and white cowhide

Elderly guys with suspenders

Old pick-up trucks

Quotes and song lyrics

A Cheerio dipped in butter and stuck to a bunch more Cheerios

Endearingly tacky restaurant decor

When the clock says 3:33 or 5:55 and making a wish

Starbuck's Skinny Cinnamon Dolce Latte

The smell of puppy breath

Lightning bugs

Marshmallow peeps

Thinking outside the box

Milkweed pods

Toads

People watching

Giving and receiving winks

Leftovers for breakfast

Blowing big bubbles with a wad of Hubba Bubba or Big League Chew

Itunes and Pandora

Old tin ceilings

A brand new pack of 64 crayons

Original vintage paintings

Oh, original paintings, why must I always want to rescue you?

I think this large, framed 1964 original painting is fantastic cool.

and it's pretty amazing when you look close up at the details and texture:

Although I appreciate it and think it cool, it's just not my style.

Is it yours?

For sale in the shop!