squirrely behavior, to be sure

he came to court the squirrel he said
though she was stiff and ceramic
he clamored for her shiny embrace
his tail was all a swish
in near a panic

she did not move nor bat an eye
when his antics became more spry
such a chameleon, with such flair
she covered her emotions under his hot glare

he tried to be quiet
saying a quick acorn prayer
if he acted as still as she
she might intuit the depth of his care

at last he then realized
oh! the despair
she just wasn't his type
coquettish and too bright
he would much rather crawl back into his tree lair
fuss around as he would manly dare
and fondle his acorns in quiet

me love to take photos

Why be shy? What if you just asked for what you wanted every now and again. Shock your staid sensibilities, live in the ever present gaping maw of the now and give forth in abandonment. Forget discretion and flare forward.

Yep - the Stripper Shoes. I call them the F*ck Me Pumps - same thing. Some can navigate the worst of sidewalks in these babies without a quiver or unsteady gate. Others need a hand railing to clutch at for the entire journey.

Wearing these babies you get a whole new perspective. You are perceptively taller, have a great leg line and now people can get a glimpse of your drawers. Hope they're prettier than mine. I am sadly in need of some panty bling. However you slice it - for a minute, before you possibly topple over - you are treading the hot and fast lane. It's a giggle.

This is all we've got folks - make the best of it. Collect what notions you have of yourself and then - give them a run for their money. Make sure they really have street cred and then throw something absolutely silly into the mix.

Find that true inner self.

Then, ROCK IT

P.S. - I just ordered all of us a new pair of shoes. They'll come wrapped in brown paper and you'll know what to do with them.
Every wardrobe should have a pair.
F*ck Me Pumps - no longer just for Strippers

Prom Party - really

At any age, going to a prom party can induce the shiver of dress-up anticipation with the fear and potential discouragement of not finding that exact combination of frock and fanfare to flounce about in. I mean - we are girls, we wanna look nice. It's essential.

No dress within my grasp made me wanna grab it and go. The brocade number at home would need an armload of grease and a second pair of hands to get on. What to do , what to do.

Then, in a morning spurt of ingenuity I plumbed the depths of my existing closet and pulled together a silly plan. I would become Mrs. Heimlich Mortimer -

Dance Chaperone.

I left Mr. Mortimer at home that evening, comatose in the vinyl barcalounger that he makes his horizontal home. I sipped from a small flask so that I was fortified to deal with the night's shenanigans. Those young whippersnappers couldn't get anything past me - inebriated or not.My accent was a little broad, my humor even broader. Some friends (giggle) didn't even know it was me.

Prom Night was never so good.

Pixie Playdough

You can find art in the smallest of things, in out of the way spaces. In little bits of colored clay.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. An old weatherworn porch with silly bits of rolled dough shaped into big eyed creatures without any limbs. Hot weather and a cool camera in my pocket. I am ready to play.

Created by my friend, Pinky and left on the front stoop of mutual friends' house, these handmade tchotckes speak to me. Little beings.

Like Spike here. He's a cool dude, likes to work out and unbeknownst to him, the ill begotten son of a traveling evangelistic minister. He calls his Mom from bus stations with spare change he finds in seat cushions at parties and usually scores with the chicks.

Spike is a Scorpio and has a deep seated fear of losing his underwear. So he locks it up at home and goes commando.

Glow and Chester are cousins, go to the same eye doctor, eat breakfast for dinner and never leave the house without trying on five different pairs of socks before deciding to go barefoot.

They are both Cancers and write anonymous love letters to Donny Osmond. Last year the went to Hawaii with some money they found in a park along with a bag of drugs. The left the drugs.

Rubit the Robot and JuneBug are inseparable companions in the quest for more marzipan and love to watch close-captioned television, especially Judge Judy. They leave notes on park benches for people to find, sometimes sending them on a wild goose chase looking for a jar of pickled eggs they hid in a tree somewhere nearby.

Rubit is an Aquarius and likes to play hopscotch with a large crowd. JuneBug is a Leo, and tries to act out irrationally in front of an audience as much as possible. Which is never often enough.

Note to Pinky - You are sooo talented. Come back soon, we miss you.

When silly friends have garage sales

My friends crack me up - and always have a gazillion little trinkets that I must have to clutter up the corners of my happy heart and the shelves in my kitchen and creative corner (two of the most awesome places in my house for me to sit my behind down and create.

My buddy, I'll call him "GarBear" , has a wild sense of art humor. No corner, or wall, or doorway - inside or out, is safe.

This is his art work - taking forsaken pieces of painting and adjusting them for our humor palettes. He is known to then place them randomly about the city for people to snicker at - or not. You know how the public can be at times. Finicky. Fussy. Without the funnybones that God gave them.

This little freeform sculpture went along with the street sign indicating the sale. Priceless.

This barbie with an extreme makeover has a cute backstory and a lot of attitude. Her T-shirt says "Hello Kinky". That's a play on Hello Kitty, the former owner tells me hurriedly, like she doesn't want me reading to much into her past history - or the doll's.

This cutie went home with me. Now, now - you with the less than clean minds - nothing like that. I will say, however, that she has more clothes on than the other barbies in my home that she will be keeping company with at this time.

I don't even want to think what that means.

Need help around the house?

When you have seen the last butt crack that you can suffer but still need help with your plumbing woes - call (425) MAN-GINA. Manginas are multi-talented. While listening to your latest boyfriend/husbands last attempt at a lame date, they are fixing the sink that he left on the floor in pieces from last weekend's "fix it" job. Mangina's compliment you on your choice of wall coloring and know how to paint the trim. Don't subject yourself to hiring outside of the gene pool any longer - call the girl's best friend, your local mangina.