Can I Keep Him...Please

My daughter brought home a stray rat the other day. No joke. How do I know it was a stray and not just...well..a rat. I called the vet, and apparently only domestic rats are black & white. So the rat Cheyenne scooped up with a paper cup was a stray, or lost, or abandoned pet rat. Black plague..black schmague, you know what I mean. Thankfully the rat died that night, and Cheyenne is still alive a week later.

Swollen

When I was a kid, there were these women in my family. I was never exactly sure of their relation (I'm not sure anyone knew for that matter). Let's put them in the Great Aunts from the old country category. They were old, and plump, and wore chiffon dresses that made an unnatural sound when they shifted in their seats, but the thing that I remember most about them was their feet. More distinctly, the U shaped mounds of flesh that swelled up out of their petite, 50's style pumps. I so desperately wanted to run up and snatch those shoes right off. I so desperately wanted to set those feet free. The irony baffled me, even as a child. In an attempt to appear beautiful, they ended up deformed. The End

Impromptu Christmas Party '04

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Originally uploaded by Donnamo.

Jason and I were just hanging out one day in late December and folks just started showing up. Not pictured here are Jon Sadler, Mary Savage, Myself, Milo, and Jason. At one point the neighbors even showed up with a plate of goodies. I hate to use this word because it makes me think of moralistic children's books with doe eyed purple dragons, but it was truely was serendipitious.

boys bw

boys bw
Originally uploaded by Donnamo.

Poet Smith house...One of the few times Justin was captured on film in those days.

Tippy

When I was a kid I used to talk to my dog, Tippy. She was a Poodle and Terrier mix, and whenever anyone asked what kind of dog she was, I would say poode-n-terrier. I said it as one word, like she was some exotic breed no one had ever heard of. She was small and black, and she understood every word I said. At the boiling point of my eight year old angst, I would seek Tippy out and tell her everything. I told her how my sister tortured me, and how my parents didn't understand the impossibility of cleaning my room, I shared with her a very real fear that my policeman father might be shot on the job, and my desire for a little brother, a brother I knew would be on my side in my efforts against my torturous sister.....This one goes out to Tippy.

In Search Of

The Dance

We made our way through the white haired couples carouselling around the dance floor to the bar where Holly ordered scotch or whiskey, something brown and on the rocks. The bartender gave us the fifteen minute warning, you know, like you give your kids before you leave the park. I only had fifteen minutes. Panic. Indecision. "Holly, which one should I ask?" There were three white haired gentlemen at the bar. She raised an eyebrow and commanded, "The one in the hawiian shirt. Go on!" I tapped him on the shoulder and while I was in the the process of asking, he took my hand and lead me to the dance floor. He was Fred Astaire(when our dance was done a woman at the table next to us whispered over that I had picked the best dancer in the place)and I was Ginger(if Ginger had difficulty being lead). He told me the dance floor is the last place around where the man is still in charge(it was charming not misogynistic). The band played "Just a Gigalo". I noticed a man in a vest and cowboy boots, and I was glad I wasn't dancing with him. "Now when I let go, keep spinning until I pull you back in," he said, and I did. He reminded me of my uncle Hal, who drank brown drinks on the rocks, much like Holly, and showed me how to play liars dice as a kid. When the song was over he thanked me(he called me young lady), smiled, and went back to his seat. He..thanked..Me. What a wonderful world.

Rock-n-Roll Fights for the Right to Have Its Feeding Tube Removed

So, I'm standing back maybe 20 people or so from the stage, and ahead of me is this couple. The boyfriend thinks he is a drummer, but instead of a drum kit, he's using his girlfriends ass. Later on in the show (at this point I'm up next to the stage) the guy next to me is playing along with the band by tapping his ring on his empty glass. He's not just tapping along though, he's adding beats where ever he sees fit. At one point the bass player looks over at the guy, gives him a grimace, and shakes his head no, but either the guy doesn't get it or he doesn't care. From that point on I can't tell if the bassist has a rockstar, contorted, I'm rockin out, look on his face or if he's just annoyed with the new addition to his band. Then just as the band is about to sing one of it's beautifully melodic, quiet, slow songs, the din at the bar rises tenfold. We're not just talking obnxious drunks, we're talking..trays being dropped, bartenders yelling, glasses clanking, and well... obnoxious drunks. And as if dealing with the glass/ring virtuoso wasn't enough, after the show the poor bassist is accosted by some other guy who asks him,"where's the band?", to which the bassist replies with a gesture toward himself, and a look of fear. So, the guy says to him, with a big, check out how funny I am grin,"sign my titty?"