Halloween at Work, by M.

In a shocking display of team spirit I dressed up, brought my pumpkin and purple lights to work... ooo spooky. (pics of fellow dresser uppers forthcoming. ) We'll see how long i can keep this corset rockin'.

pen’s pumpkin

  

Pumpkin Spirits

I told mom that in order to ward off evil spirits one actually had to carve the pumpkin and not just stare at it to see how long it lasts. the very big pumpkin i was going to let her hold, and pet and feed treats to until it started moldering into the ground and a little under three weeks at that! I blame the hot weather. Because there's no way I picked a bad pumpkin. But anyway, I had little pumpkin left, and rallied the troops last night in a grand hurrah. I think it reflects perfectly my internal mood, and the recent book mom and I finished. All in all, it makes me just a tad more happy, to smell that pumpkiny smell, light a candle and watch him to do his job of protecting us from evil. Here's to Halloween!

Tuesday Thoughts: regarding the rest of the week, by M

Apparently the week was not quite done with me.

Friday: The girl knew her check was coming late, so went out into the wide world for a respite. She hopped in her car and as she drove out of the garage, her breath was knocked from her by a large muscle on the left side of her back, and it's iron-fisted grip. She hunched forward, holyfuckingwhat, escaping her lips. She breathed out with wide eyes as her nerves now being stuck by pins spread across her back, her breath coming in deep sighs, felt tight and constricted as her back muscles fought the movement. Every breath uncomfortable. She pressed her back against the seat. FUCK, she thought, as she now could no longer turn her head to the left or tip it to the right. This was good times. But the girl did eventually go to the gym and jumped into the jacuzzi, then the pool, then the steam room, and shoveled some advil into her mouth, lathering herself in icy/hot and going to bed even as the headache spread and hovered at the base of her neck. Blissful sleep.

Saturday: The girl woke, not quite well but vowed to venture downtown to the fabric district. It was uncommon hot, and her friend had brought friends and they manically went from store to store to store until the girl grew dizzy from fabric options and wanted to just stand still and think. And as time tore from her at the 11th hour she found a different direction and spent $30 on 20yards. Gold. Mine. And although she fell further behind against the clock, things were going well, just ok, until the friend and the friend's friend started talking about religion. I suppose the girl had started it, fed it, when the friend said, this girl is all RELIGIOUS, despite the fact the girl sat there as a known church goer, she asked why? What do you mean? To which they said, we know you're not like that BUT, religion is brainwashing, religion is a republican fear-mongering tactic, religion is pathetic and pointless, and have it however you want as long as you don't PUSH IT ON ME. And the girl furrowed her brow and could not find the words, as she felt smashed against the pane of THEIR BELIEFS, and then she said, well religion is different than Jesus, to which her friend said, yah, but. And the girl said, so you don't believe in Jesus anymore? To which her friend went, eh.... And the girl turned her head to the window, and was very glad to have sunglasses on, as it seemed she'd just been told that her friend of 18 years didn't love HER anymore. And she found her heart just a little bit broken. And saw that her friend glanced over, but still could find nothing to say.

Sunday: She got a call from a friend who wanted to see her. So the girl saw her, and the girl stared with disdain at the Obama/Biden button, and wanted a McCain/Palin Button of her own to wear as they sat over their lunch salads and iced tea. But she didn't say anything but sat slumped and melancholy. They talked but the girl was not very good company. And then they went to leave, her beloved car lolly, went SCRUNCH against the pylon on the left. And the friend said, I saw that. THEN WHY THE FUCK DIDN"T YOU SAY SOMETHING. I thought, for sure you saw it. The girl said, PLEASE stop saying shit like that. When I ran the stoplight and you said, Are you sure? What the fuck was that suppose to mean. If you're not going to help, stop saying you could've helped but just refused to SAY SOMETHING. FUCK... Do you want to get out and look at it, asked the friend. NO I DO NOT, said the girl, who in all of her years of driving had NEVER done that particular maneuver, on any more or less important cars. She stared straight ahead and tried to make it home, and when her father suggested the friend stay for dinner she said NO, and when they suggested dinner next week, the girl said she'd have to check her schedule, because the girl no longer thought it right that the father could talk better to the friend than to her. And later, the girl read Dracula to her mother, and they watched Clue, and she had an allergic reaction to wheat cereal and felt, very, very sorry for herself.

Monday: The girl woke with a vow to not go to work, but found herself driving there anyway, and managed to vote (proud as she googled each proposition), and write a little something, and harass people about the prayer ministry meeting from last wednesday....and not do her french homework, but went to class anyway, only to feel her whole body humming and screeching and wanting to lay down. She thought, it could've been the cookie, brownie and ricekrispie treat I had earlier, but the girl thought it more likely was her back. And then as they sat talking about subjunctive clauses her left hand throbbed, and she turned it palm up and went to rub a sore spot on the pad of her palm, but it hurt more when she did it, and she could see a vien bulging up and turning purple with a swath of pink around it, but the girl didn't know why. She only hoped that, after spending 5 minutes resting her eyes in a bathroom stall that she would be able to make it home without further incident. She could only hope Tuesday would prove better. And the twinge in her eye indicated that she herself couldn't believe it.

senior prom, pen

Why exactly are we doing this, anyway?

pen’s blast from the past

 

 

And a bonus, from 1994, the true Pen. The 1996 YBY pic didn’t seem that far off.

here's 1994 me...

my head looks gigantic in this photo and my eyes seem squinty. i don't know...

Blast from the Past, by M

Yearbook Yourself:

Friday Thoughts, by M

Due to my lack of words in blogging I might have to institute a friday thoughts post where it's required I stream of conscious everything going on so that, I find purpose in spilling words out into the void...

My week recap:
Monday: The girl was trepidatious about french. She knew the result of the mid-term wasn't going to be stellar. The class itself was an exercise in fighting inadequacy, team work, and patience. None of which the girl had right then. She went to Portos and had a Chicken Cesar Salad and bought a meat pie and chocolate croissant for later. But later came on the way to class as she, ferme'd her livre in disgust at the blur of words before her. She debated turning back. But she was already a meer 5 minutes away. And she made it to the parking lot, read a little and thought, no, sir, not today. Not at all. And retreated west, to her home, down through the dark canyon and back out, where she ate a brownie, and thought, what is WRONG with me.

Tuesday: The girl realized "Expelled: No intelligence allowed" was out on DVD, but hadn't the chance to get it. And the girl liked intelligent design theory. But she sat watching "BiggestLoser: Couples" instead. Watching everyone uncouple, drop pounds and workout despite knee injuries. She does not remember much else.

Wednesday: The girl parked at a failed parking meter in the shade, in the rare heat of October in Hollywood, where Sunday meters will no longer be free. Sunday has become unsacred, fettered down and just like any other day of the week. She met with a man about a prayer community at church, and all the ways in which prayer can invade the lives of its people. They touched on healing. She felt bad after saying, you're a mess. But after all, she was also a mess. They touched on interceding, unburdening, fellowship and the holyspirit. They touched on retreats to Mexico and the waters of Baja. They touched on leadership for prayer and all the ways in which it should be, prayer, of paramount, but to the girl was far from being anything like. She did not think they were all on the same page. He paid for lunch, and it was good. She tried not to let it bother her that the restaurant got a B. She walked back to her car, no ticket, and was 10min late to a pitch meeting. She did not watch the lion being shot because he was eating his trainer, but she did watch a sea lion leaping waves beside a surfer. And she went to class and it didn't seem so nerve racking. She got a C- on her midterm and when in an exercise in class, she said, "J'ai oublie, frequemment..." the teacher added, "faire devoirs." And this was true. And she smiled.

Thursday: The girl knew the parents were returning to her now ordered and peaceful abode. So she watered in the morning. Took the dogs for a walk. Did the dishes. Thought about selling albums on e-bay. Her brother called her from Vegas and that she was missing out on her niece. To which she said, "hopefully I'll get to see her when she's walking and talking." She did not say that, she did not think much of him as a brother. That 4 years and no visits does just as much damage. That because you love your daughter does not mean the girl feels loved in the same way, or that she wants to be enveloped in the circumfrance of your distant family life, and the niece be the only reason to share your life with her. Perhaps she wants to be loved for herself and her interests, perhaps she wants her brother to ask about central america and how she will be leaving in 48 days, to take an interest. She told you anyway, like she told you before. And you said, don't get leeches. And she said, I'm going to marry a druglord instead.

Friday: The girl woke to the cat pawing her face, awake. She knocked him off the bed once but he did it again. She does not know how to stem this enduring yet, infuriating new and successful habit of his. He runs each time to see his foodbowl full. That is all he wants each time, and for her to groom his face. Which she does. She goes outside and watches the mums unfurling yellow and burgandy and the bees all round, doing their good work, and plays with the dogs, and thinks, work awaits me, along with a check, and her color me mine, sugar bowl, pictures forthcoming, and she thinks despite this nagging internal dialogue of hers about things to accomplish over the weekend, people and the communicating and the not communicating, mortality, therapy, invoices, her irritation over pettiness and the trashing of sarah palin, her annoyance at the screeching behaviors of john stewart who she liked, the Office, strange dreams, no massage, and the word for unfortunately is malarusement in french makes her smile... like bad amusement, or almost like happily bad... but anyway now she doesn't remember what else because all the words have taken her thoughts away, and made her breathe deep and wait for yoga tonight, and money in the bank, and her sugar bowl, glazed and waiting.

WE:6 I PROMISE

Another writing installment. I need all the validation I can get you know...Reasons to keep on lying and making up things about things.

While looking through his scrapbooks, Lou found the following note: “We will not have help by mom or dad with the hamster.” He stared hard at Alissa’s careful handwriting, replaying the series of events that came from the inevitable consequence that Alissa and Lou, really were in charge of Milo. At the time, death, didn’t seem an inevitable consequence, despite the reality of Justin’s pet snake and the final dash by Milo under the couch to meet his doom, who, as it turns out, didn’t have so much a fear of them, but from Missy the miniature schnauzer, whose feet on the kitchen tiles made that awful clicking sound. And had forever since been associated as a harbinger of death.

Justin of course signed a slip saying he was responsible for his snake, and as it was Harlow’s 3rd escape, in as many months, he was reluctant for his negligence to come to the surface. And Harlow having been on his own for approximately 8days had made it downstairs, barely escaped Missy and was now considering his escape strategy when circumstance blessed him with a meal. He couldn’t resist, could he?

Lou sighed and closed the detritus of his childhood. It was with heavy hearts that he and Justin had fished under the couch and found Harlow, Alissa with her trembling lip telling them what she was sure were the final moments based on a recently watched Discovery Channel show. Bone crushing. And pointing her then small finger at a tiny clump of fur, as evidence. They’d stopped looking after that. Justin had picked up a sluggish Harlow solemnly and vowed to be more responsible in the future. He climbed the stairs slowly with a final look back at the both of them, heads bowed. And both Alissa and Lou sat on the porch wondering what they were going to say to their parents about Milo’s demise. They promised not to implicate Justin in the matter who already got too much attention for that D in Math and his profusion of black shirts.

Harlow never escaped again.

Lou sat there slumped in the corner of the closet, cigarette dangling from his lips. Which was his only one, he promised himself, he’d have all day. And his wife, Natalie, who never abided it, was thankfully at a conference all weekend. And this was HIS office after all, in the garage, fully ventilated. The TV yammered on in the background, and he leaned over around the closet jam until he could get it in view, because it was a story about killer bees, “Those killer bees would hunt me forever until I’m dead,” said the curious man in the more curious bee suit, with a quick breath and lean into the camera. And he laughed. But there was no one to make a sarcastic comment to. About how earnest the man in the bee suit said it as if in fact many avenues of his life had led him to the belief that he was in an epic struggle with these bees and that one day, when he least suspected it, they would wreak their revenge upon his person with terrifying accuracy. Deadly precision. No. Escape.

Thank god he had Natalie. She was a witness to his life, viewed a record of him living and breathing- changing. But still Alissa and Justin, and maybe Benny from down the street, they were the true seers of his life, but distance yawned between them. He wondered how quickly things and people could slip out of their lives, and the profusion of beige in his closet. How he felt safe, almost too. He needed to get another job. Especially before the plunge into parenthood.
***

When a media message popped up on Alissa’s Blackberry, she drew her phone out of her purse. Because meetings, who fucking needed them. Sure they catered, but how many muffins could you have until you wished you were bulemic like Jackie Ferin from your college days, and though you despised her deeply at the time, that is the most often associated thought: overeating, stuffed, I feel like puking, bulemia, Jackie, god I wish. And there she was forever, entrenched in your psyche. And boy you fucking resented it.

So that when Alissa saw her childlike scrawl on a piece of Garfield memo paper, she thought she was being visited by a ghost, paused, to make a “note” on her steno pad, nod attentively, and returned to the message. “We will not have help with the hamster…” Jesus. How did Lou still have that?! She bit her pinky nail and smirked. What the fuck were her parents thinking. This was the great debate for every lost egg of hers. She and her friends named them as they went- Goodbye Laquicia, Ferique, Alice and Nadine. Goodbye. In fact, it was a pretty hard line. Dr. Phil would definitely disagree. Expecting children to make adult decisions and face adult consequences. Though she wasn’t sure. Maybe they should know. Couldn’t they understand? Certainly they hadn’t thought death by snake, possibly stale water or letting the hamster starve accidentally like on a sleepover to Benny and Jessica’s house, actually occurred, but that was easily corrected. Some things you just can’t plan for. And she recoiled when she remembered the loss of Milo. It seemed such a serious thing to her at the time. Justin had leant her and Lou black shirts and he’d helped them with a small funeral in the backyard under the lemon tree.

The parents were not in attendance, understandably too upset. But when she at one point during Lou’s dirge and the playing of Metallica from Justin on the boombox, craned her body around and saw the curtain swish back into place from the upstairs window. She wondered if they ever realized there wasn’t a body. Since her mom respected her tense and startled face at the suggestion of “disturbing” the remains in the pink bejeweled box, already sealed with glue. Death by natural causes. Her mother’s hand withdrew and returned to the spaghetti sauce.

The next text message was her friend’s idea of a joke: "Fun Loving Honest Type: seeking lively nature lover for a good time." She rolled her eyes. I am not going online with that tagline. There was so much wrong with that sentence. But she still wondered what was the perfect distillation of her, possibly nature loving. What was the distillation of what she sought… was it a good time? Or was it something else… not life long completion of me. That was something else entirely. Or did she just want to be found? It was a long time before they decided to try again, for another animal, and she supposed dating for her was much the same. And just because Ben, that asshole, was still alive, somewhere in Florida with Becca, or whatever her name was, doesn’t mean something didn’t die. Something certainly, DID, die.

The next animal they tried for was a bird. But she grew tired of clipping its wings. And eventually felt bad about it being in a cage. And after a particular narrow miss into the frigid winter, the bird was donated to a local college and a particularly enthusiastic, young ornithologist named Enrique.

“Lou-Lou. Where did you-- “Don’t call me that,” he inserted. “--find THAT.”

“It was in my scrapbook and I was cleaning out the closet.”

“You should frame it. And be that dad, who points to the plaque on the wall and says, we found out the hard way. Shakes head knowingly.”

“Well we had Missy,” Lou reasoned.

“But that was only because Missy was no longer being “cared for” as mom says by Uncle Rodger, after his divorce from—uh—what was her name?”

“Anne? She didn’t want the dog, I don’t think.”

“Did you show Justin the note?”

“What note?... Oh, uh, no. I mean you know why would he care.”

“He’d care…. Shit, I have to get back. I’ll forward-- ”

Click.
***


Justin, while on his skateboard, along the Venice Beach boardwalk, felt the vibration of his phone. His dog, whose tongue, lolling out, galloped alongside him continued undaunted. He saw the picture and replaced the phone back in his pocket. And it wasn’t until a rollerblader whizzed by him that he was startled from the revere of wind-rushed thought and halted, popping up his board and jogging to a stop. It was amazing how just the one thing could make all the molecules in your body hum.

For a few minutes he sat still in his car with his head back, remarking upon his scruffy aging face. He decided to drive north to his parents house in Calabasas, who had left the Midwest winters behind after Grandma Jenny left her house to them. “The highways are deserted, no travelers on the road,” he thought. If only it was always like this. But then one being at home felt worse, so he made eggs and toast and sat on the porch to wait. He pulled out the phone, but didn’t quite know what to say back to Alissa. It was funny yes, now, maybe, and random to be reminded. So he picked up his dad’s devotional Bible, coated with the grit the wind had stirred up, and started thumbing through some pages. When he was 14 he was already well on his way to being a hostile angst ridden youth and there was this passage in his youth group devotion about not letting the devil get a foothold. It always haunted him. How could the devil do that exactly? In what way with his talons or claws or scales or whatever it was get a foothold of you? He was already on the outs with most of the mary n’susie crew at church and frequently longed for escape, and they all seemed quite sure they were avoiding it. He wasn’t sure. But it probably started with his heart.

And he did feel really terrible about it, Harlow, eating Lou and Alissa’s pet. He never wanted to see that look on anyone’s face again, and that even though it was the snake, he’d caused it. He sat in his room staring at the happily fed snake and sighed. And saw the responsibility note tacked to the wall among anarchy signs and flames, and all the clothes on the floor, and went into Alissa’s room. She was climbing in her closet for a pink box, so he helped her get it down, and they just sat down, and she handed him the glue and started to bejewel it. And he thought it was really beautiful, and regretted there was no way to work glitter into his palette of standoffish black.

And now, his fingers twitched, with inactivity and he set the Bible down.

***

“There’s a kind of renaissance happening here,” said the mom, swishing back the curtain.

“With whom,” said the Dad.

“With, Justin.”

“Did they spot you?”

“I think Alissa saw us but she’s too guilty to accuse me of anything.” The mom paused in thought, “you know, he helped her bejewel that box. I saw him with the glue and glitter myself.”

“Will wonders never cease.”

“No.”

“I’m glad.”

That night without a word spoken, there was an extra helping of dessert for all parties. This was shortly before the mom switched to natural sweeteners and was officially close to ruling out Lucky Charms and donuts, but at the time it was heapfuls of ice cream and sprinkles. And the mom and dad were very proud of all of their children. Though they both knew something had to be done about Missy, the miniature schnauzer, who seemed to think she had the run of the place. So the parents drafted themselves a note that said, “We will take better care of Missy, and trim her toe nails.”

And then, of course years and states later, their eldest Justin, was on the porch texting Alissa and talking about hampsters, though for the life of them they could not remember why. So they said hello to his dog, and the father showed him round to all the new plants and how he’d trimmed the fruit tree. And the mother told him he was absolutely staying for lunch and that they should go for a walk and that Lou and his wife were close to having kids, and that hopefully they could all be together for Christmas. Justin just smiled and said, that he’d have to call Lou, and in that way it was true, that all the notes had done more good than harm, and the parents were glad, that they wouldn’t have to slip another one in his car that said, pay more attention to your siblings, and just be ignored, because they had him here, all to themselves, even though it was their secret hope he’d find someone to one day write notes with. But for now, this is how things were and lunch was going to be ready at 1.

Drinking Game, by M

foray into my past by watching the 1994 "My So Called LIfe." I remember it all concretely: angst ridden poetry, doc martins, a preponderance of flannel... and how just as Angela Chase was just maybe working it out with Jordan Catalono and Rayanne Graff, was still stuck in no friend purgatory with a killer role in Our Town, with Rickie Vasquez stuck in the middle living with the Chase's and having come "out", as Brian Krackow admits to writing the most heart-felt beautiful love letter ever, the series abruptly ends...and how we'll never know if Angela Chase sleeps with Jordan Catalono, or Rayanne's drinking kills her, or if Angela's dad has an affair, or if the restaurant is a success... but before we got there my friend was like, ugh god! why do they keep saying their names, their FULL names over and over and over. It's driving me crazy! Looking back with the last episode momentarily on pause, she said, I am NOT kidding. And I thought it can't be THAT bad. So we backtracked to the beginning and I got out a score card, intent on proving my friend wrong.

But turns out, she was totally right.
The writer, with a possible lyrical quirk, repeated the full names of the characters at least 26times in 42minutes. For the first 18 minutes a full name is said at least once per minute, and though I had to turn my netflix in it DOES make me sort of wonder, how the other episodes might stack up, and i'm guessing there might be more. So if any of you own the series and want to watch an episode please do oblige with your own count. But its not for the faint of heart, the writer sneaks in names quickly and is not adverse to saying minor character names like Dellia Fisher just to keep you on your toes. You might miss it.

So my friend and I thought if we had to take A SHOT every time a full name was said we'd a) never make it through the entire episode... and b) alcohol poisoning. So we switched it to, each person had to draw a character name out of a hat, and depending on the number of people, is how you go from the central characters to the periphery. For instance, getting Jordan Catalono would be like the Queen of Spades. A basic death sentence. His name, and we thought this was low, was repeated a small total of 6 times! Angela Chase got 4/5. I can't remember. And Rickie and Rayanne were tied at 4 each. But for instance Brian Krakow was only said once! Which for the series as a whole, was rare as Angela Chase in her narrations is often completely irked by Brian. Yes. Brian Krakow and then goes on mooning over Jordan Catalono. So it introduces randomness- so then you move on down the line, to B story characters, the parents and then guest spots. This provides some challenge, high tolerance and possibly a saving grace if you draw a coveted minor character. For mercies sake after x amount of shots maybe their might be a truth/dare element, if for instance you run out of liquor or don't want to encourage vomiting.

Have fun!
Play Safe.
And hope for another 30'something to come along for the new batch. I can only stay attached to high school dramas for so long before I think, but what about where i am, in my life right now... so I guess I have to go watch Reality Bites and Singles and think about it all over again...

pictures I took for my mom, by M

This is what we should have seen in the great owl debacle of early '08. But as it happens I was at some weird fall festival thing for 2 minutes in between shopping and mocha latte getting. They had a lemur too, but whatevs. This clearly was way cooler.

The 2nd Fall Faire, by M

So, here we are kayaking Santa Barbara harbor and bay Sunday Last. We took a backroad up to avoid traffic and stopped to get giant, but reasonably priced pumpkins... Kerry was tired, but she came anyway. She rallied and I was glad to have her but I felt bad. I think I should've tried to leave her at home because half the time I would be 100yards away and she'd be just floating there looking for a seal to surface. Which is a classic illustration of how she wants to experience and i want to accomplish, because to me accomplishing something is the experience. It's interesting. Anyway this time on the kayak I felt off-kilter and within a hairsbreadth of capsizing. Which I'm leary of, and generally have a good sense of balance. It might've been the criss-cut fries I had for lunch or the CGi storyboard of how this girl's leg got bitten off by a shark but I was completely rattly and unnerved. And i hate that! Finally 1/2 way through meandering around the bay, I paddled to shore while Kerry, in another example of just experiencing things by herself, while I had an objective, watched me paddle to shore but didn't follow. She was worrying about beaching herself, and looking for seals, which compared to capsizing and getting eaten by sharks was completely imperatively different. You can see by my face below, despite the epic setting, that I was like, if i move i'm going to die. After beaching myself, it was like hitting the reset button. I pulled myself to shore, took some breaths, cursed my fat, and my fear of sharks and got back on the kayak and shoved myself into the water. Going back into the water with a different attitude, while I still need to take a day to actually practice capsizing, was completely redeeming and I was able to relax and watch the pelicans.... and renew my vow to one day kayak around an island. This next weekend promises to be completely uneventful in comparison. You will not be seeing pictures of epic blue skies and fall activities. And it will be fantastic.

oh hells yes, by pen

Program your DVRs! Stylista is here! I love this site about ProRun (Project RunGay), btw. ‘Tis snarky and fabulous.

 

Fall Splendidness

Ah, yes. Another adventure at Balboa Lake. Man made, but not unglorious full of interesting birds and rogue packs of geese. We biked the perimeter of the park, and topped it off with speeding thru sloped tunnel areas and stretching on the grass. A perfect saturday. One might almost say idyllic as we chatted and wended our way... discussing politics to why there's a park in the middle of the san fernando valley. I say, thank god for friends and flood plains.

Today I, by pen

…did an ab exercise segment in which the lady used the word “awesome” so many times that if it were a drinking game instead, I would have easily been drunk, in a coma, and then dead.

Today I, by M

feel like a dragonfly that has posed itself on a pole above a garden fountain. There is a giant glob of tar next to my delicate foot and the water is not catching the light quite right.

Today I, by M

feel like a black marble on a wooden game board. I've hit a slot and stuck and all the other marbles flew off the board, which was upset by a cat with long black hair and white patches. Luckily its squeezed out the window and let in some air.

Today I, by M

feel like a claymation character. At one point I was smashed into a pancake. But then remolded, to pretty much what I looked like before. There's the tell-tale thumbprints and I like the color they came up with (red) and my outfit (yellow flower in my hair). But still there's that vague apprehension again. I'm sure tomorrow will be a walk in the park. With chipmunks and cool summer breezes, and paychecks. And maybe a claymation horse to go riding off into the sunset with.

And that one day, I might blog about real non-symbolic things... maybe one day.

She liked it!

My friend and loyal commenter, Almost Anonymous, is a tough nut to crack. She's an enigma wrapped in an antique map but this is what I got based on what I know of her. She's got the Libra balance and zen thing going, but under that quiet lies an adventurer who is feminine and fierce... a little natural, a little formal, a little old school a little all her own... the quote is my anthem for her: "vincit qui se vincit" : she conquers, who conquers herself.

the ship is the umbrella and she's come ashore... and the rest is for her to imagine. happy birthday!!

Today I, by M

feel like a dragon kite, flying high over the beach. The breeze is strong, the kid holding me seems to be getting distracted though, and it's causing me to pitch erratically.

Wedding! FLOWERS!

So this is my first attempt at an actual wedding bouquet, though I've been making many a bouquet over the years for vases... the pressure is a little more intense. It took me 3 hours roughly because the roses had actual thorns! and leaves! though no fragrance. Silly fakish flowers. But they held up well besides a little bruising of the white roses which are frickin finicky and the asters held up and it was all fantastic. The flowers cost $67 total at the LA Flower Market, with flowers to spare for a small cluster of white roses for the bride/grooms table and 3longstem bouquets for the mothers... wee. I think I achieved what I wanted- something simple, elegant, but also with an old fashioned/antiquish vibe... voila!