a new shade of lipstick for my trip

~'San Francisco' by Nancy Sinatra because it makes me want to eat at a lunch counter with Jimmy Durante and have a heart-to-heart.
&
~'Have Love Will Travel' by the Sonics because I've been feeling frisky of late and, well, I have love and I am traveling, so why not spread it around a little?

~“The surest aid in combating the male's disease of self-contempt is to be loved by a clever woman.” -Friedrich Nietzsche. I put this one in today because I don't really like it.
I mean, what gives, Friedrich? Women don't have enough to do that we have to be responsible for a fella who can't buck up and live a life he's not ashamed of? Nah. Besides, I tried to love a male with the self-contempt disease and it didn't work. That disease is contagious, ladies. You see a miserable man coming your way, cross the street, apply a fresh coat of lipstick and do not look back.

~Midnight Meat Train - wow! What a terrific surprise, this one. Read on.




Hi gang. Couple of topics today. I'm not going to apologize anymore for the length of time passing between posts. I'm just not. Between the full-time job, doctor appointments, the Protect.org gig*, and the goings-on of a single gal in the city…things get lunar.

Tiny topic 1: I first saw the trailer for Midnight Meat Train with my pal Maurice. First of all: brilliant title. Absolutely, resolutely, indubitably brilliant. We couldn't wait for it to come out. August 1 release date -- perfect way to celebrate my birthday, right? Wrong. Sadness ensued when they permitted its release in only a few theaters cross-country, SF not being one of those cities. The reasons were political (natch, it's Hollywood). But, I finally watched it on dvd last nite and was blown away by the production value. Only a minor story snafu toward the end that left me scratching my noodle, but Vinnie Jones- woo! That man's stare could send a charging bull away whimpering.
I've sort of gotten out of the horror genre because somewhere along the way "scary" got replaced with "violent". While violence is scary, it's not clever. A truly scary movie can be such without ever spilling a drop of blood.
Meat Train was bloody, I'm not saying otherwise. With a title like that…seriously. But the story was good. Was different. Was 98% thoughtful. I don't think it's a movie for everyone; all I'm saying is that it was a refreshing alternative to the teenage slasher flicks for which I have no tolerance, interest, or respect.

Tiny topic 2: So it's official now. I go in for surgery on June 10th. The name of the surgery is about this _____________________________________long, but essentially, I'm having my ovaries plucked. What happened was just this: this old body of mine has decided to no longer react favorably to the chemo treatments I currently receive. And so, here I go.
I'm trying to figure out a couple of things:
- how much does an ovary weigh? if it's ~2lbs… 2lbs x 2 = 4 and I'm halfway down to my Greece-trip weight!
- should I ask Doc to put the little jumping lady beans in formaldehyde so I can bring them out at parties? but what if they get mistaken for onions and end up in a Gibson?
Ovartini? A dirty martini with extra ovaries?
- should I make a necklace with them?
- should I realize my dream and make an ashtray?
- should I make an ashtray necklace (tres convenient et chic, non?)
- what if there's a demand for ovary ashtray necklaces (note to self: brainstorm marketing names, collect focus group)? do I turn into a body farmer? do I loiter outside women's health clinics peddling my ware?
- or do I do the right thing and donate them to an impoverished pre-op?

O turmoil!

After the surgery/recovery, I'm mediterranean-bound. I've bought my ticket to Greece. I'm going back, because I can't not. The heat, the food, the smell, the sand, the language….I'm so excited my belly's doing cartwheels. I've been listening to language cds and am pleased to report that the cds are actually moving too slow for me. I remember more than I thought and it's lovely.

And with that I must sign off for now. Treat yourselves to something sweet this weekend, gang: a smile, a Gimlet, a smooch, a peanut butter cookie and a dark beer. Life is too damned short and sour - make a mental list of thankful-fors and I betchya you'll almost literally feel your heart bloom. Seriously, there's not that much time.





*am absolutely over the moon with this, by the way. being featured on the site as a volunteer. check for it soon.

unfettered, unpeck'd & not missing a beat

~'Hold on, I'm comin' by Sam & Dave, a real kick. i dare you to claim this song doesn't cure what ails ya. i strongly encourage the box set which includes their public service announcement about staying in school = way cool.

~Thirteen Conversations about One Thing, because it has an intense quiet to its observation of the seminal meaning of in-consideration and the effects thereof (and because it stars John Turturro).

~"True remorse is never just regret over consequences; it is regret over motive."
-Mignon McLaughlin, because some people apologize too much (guilty) and others not at all when they should and i only just recently realized what a tremendous toll that takes on one's spirit > creativity > joy. it seems that some people mistake condolences with regret, then others don't regret what they should when they should, and if they do, they don't admit it which leads to what should amount to a monstrous "I AM SO FUCKING SORRY" but when you don't get a sincere one of those, it makes you tired of hanging with that sorry sad-sac of a man who is not only guilty of being an asspuck, but also guilty of the above-mentioned lack of consideration. and that, readers, is unforgivable.

welcome to K-TMI, my name is dee ann & i'll be your hostess for the rant this evening.


hiya gang! apologies for the late-ish posting. much happening in deeannland as of late and most of it qualifies as awesome.

first: vitamin D has been up and out! the weather has been positively glorious. anything above 75degrees pleases me very much indeed, and my beloved city has certainly delivered. i bring out the summer dresses & stilettos (not to mention more boys in more tank tops/wife-beaters ~ yum!) and everything just feels…lighter.

case in point: walking the embarcadero yesterday, looking out at the water, smelling the mixture of salt air, sweat and cologne from the mens who kindly remove their suit blazers and loosen their ties ~yum! a middle-age man (read: my age ~yikes. ~yay!) and i both turned our heads away from the ocean at the same time, made eye contact and within a milli-second, it seems we both realized what a perfect day it was and so, started laughing. made my day. i love it. mutual appreciation society, party of 2.

in addition, the new apartment is delightful. one evening, while enjoying the vibrant heat on my relatively sizeable balcony at 9pm in shorts (yes crowd, i'm wearing shorts again for the first time since college. gadzooks.) and a tank, i am now aware that my across-the-street neighbor is an exhibitionist.

if you're reading, Sir Hank the Yank: a little to the left, please, and lose the socks next time, eh?

Louie continues to provide me with much laughter and effortless affection; work is going very well; i'm dancing a lot; the first tan lines of the season have made a special appearance on this ol' bod of mine & the baby basil on my patio is redolent of the country i will soon visit.
don't want to jinx it so that's all i have to say about that!

as y'all know, at the end of the month, i go to The Stupid Cancer Happy Hour (www.stupidcancershow.com, podcast with host Matthew Zachary). >>>

>>>as long as i can remember, i've been a member of www.Protect.org. so i put out a lame query in facebook to Protect's 'fans' and fellow members wondering if anyone would like to start an SF chapter to meet monthly, something like what the STCHH does, but with an occasional guest speaker and the like. concomitantly, i wrote to Protect to see if there was anymore i could do besides pay my annual 30$ membership fee.

much to my giddy and immense pleasure, the nicest lady contacted me with an answer: one thing lead to another and i will now be the writer of newsfeeds for Protect's site. it's quite a bit of work, but i absolutely LOVE it.
in a nutshell, here's how the facebook page reads in case you don't know about the organization (shame on you):

'PROTECT is a national pro-child, anti-crime membership association. We are founded on the belief that our first and most sacred obligation as parents, citizens, and members of the human species is the protection of children from harm. We are committed to building a powerful, nonpartisan force for the protection of children from abuse, exploitation and neglect. We believe that this must be done through a determined single-issue focus, a meaningful mainstream agenda and the use of proven modern political strategies.'

one area of interest, and seemingly, one of particular need of study, is the effects/results both long-term and immediate, of familial reunification on child abuse victims.
outrageous to me and anyone who has a modicum of grey matter is that the courts place traumatized, terrorized child victims back in the home with the predator.
CPS's goal is to reunite family members whenever possible - whether after therapy sessions, temporary foster care, et cetera. but there remains no, at least none that i can uncover yet, research on how the inevitable, indubitable stress and fear shape the victims' lives going forward.
what gives???
and so, i'm back to poring over texts, tests, tomes and phone lists to find some answers. all this, i love.


all this in a nutshell which i suppose makes me the nut. s'ok, gang, takes one to know one.
fin.
cheers. clink.

tenderness of absence or vice versa

~'Sleepwalk' by Santo & Johnny because when i find a fella who thinks this song is as romantic as i do, i'll know he's worth some of my time.

~Sexy Beast for the way Gal looks at DeeDee like she's the most precious woman on the planet. et cetera and so on.

~"Back off, I'm beautiful." -Ray Winstone as Gal. An attitude i'd like to adopt.


hi gang. on my way out, so i'll just drop a quick one.
thanks for playing! clink!

~~~~

A quiet country dinner

words: table & clasp


She placed a ham on the kitchen table.

Earlier that month, you and I made love on that table. Neither of us said a word, but felt the same ache, the same thrill, the same shame curdle inside.
You filled the mason jars as I laid out mustard-oil apricots.

You opened the window and earth's golden hour filled the room.

She bid you to say grace.

I smoothed the cloth in my lap, closed my eyes, placed my clasped hands to my lips.

'Thank You for this bounty we are about to receive'

She stood with a loud push of her chair.

I could tell, the way a woman always can,

by the way she carved the ham

that she knew.

i know more liars than i know fish

~'Ben's Waltz' by Marcelo Zarvos because it's a meandering little piece that is at once sympathetic and mocking and, like most good things, ends too soon.

+

~'After Hours' by Velvet Underground because the form and content work together just about as perfectly as any i can remember. maybe Cake's 'I will survive' is a far-away second place.

~Leaving Las Vegas because it's tender, tragic, heartbreaking, frustrating, funny.

~"The moon ain't romantic, it's intimidating as hell." -Tom Waits. the most accurate, non-scientific explanation of the moon i've ever heard.

hiya gang. today was... a moody pre-teen.

i know when i wake and the sun is up full it's going to be a semi-non-disastrous day, no matter what medical results are waiting for me. i know that when i feel totally at ease bringing out the seersucker trou that 'my' seasons are on their ways and sundresses and strappy heels are sure to follow. i had a great weekend 'round the pool and i'm feeling California. but, as if to snap me back into place, as if to tell me 'don't get ahead of your happy self, hairgrove', today was a mix of sweet and weird.

sweet: fine weather, at work early and looking fab.

sweet: decent work load

sweet: time enough to hit the post office at lunch

weird: thankless bitch cut in front of me in line at said post office. very rude and on her mobile phone.

weird: i didn't tell her she was rude

sweet: fella behind me said, "i saw her cut in front of you." i said 'yea, choosin' my battles these days.' he said, "well, hey, she gets helped first, but you've got your looks."

sweet: passport is on its way to our blasted department of state

weird: when did passport photos go from costing me 5$ to 15$? yea, it's been that long since i traveled proper

sweet: only took 10 minutes at the post office

sweet: that left me the rest of the hour to walk hard along the embarcadero

sweet: with weather like this, it's a sundress, meet strangers and a BR-549 day

weird: went for a walk on the pier where any number of puckered men were fishing. i watched one man kneel over a small fish, paying it no heed as he disentangled his lure. this little silver fish quivered and plopped around for a while until the guy picked it up and tossed it into a pink take-out bag that already contained three other fish of the same type. he went back to his lure. and that bag just kept jerking. each time it stopped i felt relieved, but then the jerking would start again and startle me again and this went on until i couldn't bear to stay there anymore.

there i was amongst a dozen fishermen with my eyes welling up.

i can imagine being tossed away carelessly (from lovers to hospitals), but the persistent jerk of the bag meant such a struggle for life. i've known that, too. but never from the inside of a chinese take-out bag. knock wood. i mean, i've seen james colburn struggle for it in Charade, but that's Hollywoodweird.

thanks for hanging on, gang. more news to come as april takes on its own life.

~~
The male Lincolnfish is solitary by design. It does not travel in schools, but, rather, in a group of no more than three. Even this is somewhat rare, however, as they are known to prefer lone travel. To see more than two together is a brilliant, flickering sight to behold.

The fish's color is so silver that it borders on white. Or perhaps, it is the other way around. In the deep, powdery recesses of the ocean, the Lincolnfish is neither predator, nor prey. As it flees to the very dark bottom, it does so in order to rejuvenate its sheen.

Students of the Lincolnfish have discovered that the particular and very specific recipe of silt and fine residual grains of coral work as a type of exfoliant which 'polishes' the fish's exterior. He performs a rather rapturous roiling in his sandy bath that disrupts the immediate area and turns it into a mess of beige and pink clouds. Once the Lincolnfish returns to the intermediary level of the ocean, his primary habitat, he does so with a newly vibrant appeal.

This brings us to the Lincolnfish mating ritual. Like many other species, it is the male Lincolnfish that pursues the female, but he does so in an almost passive/aggressive manner.
You see, the reason that the lucky Lincolnfish must rejuvenate his exterior is because in order to capture the attention of a female, the male will rub the side of its body against the rather rough coral, leaving brilliantly-colored scales behind to signify his virility and potency. He then hangs about waiting for the female to approach. So, he primps, he paints, he waits and he pounces.

As one would expect, being solitary by design, the Lincolnfish is an absentee father. Perhaps Mother Nature's method of justice comes here in to play. Shortly after mating, the male Lincolnfish is rendered paralyzed for, sometimes, nearly up to an half hour. This obviously makes him easy prey and he is quite often gobbled up by his number one enemy, the most unsightly DevilStinger Scorpionfish.

~~

words: fish & hour

Voiceover from Great Britain

rise & fall & rise. lie & lying.

~'Hey Cowboy' by Junior Bonner because i'm getting back into the swing of things, all hips and lips and hotpants. 

& because i couldn't choose just one song this time:

~'A cream or a lotion?' by James Newton Howard because it's a lilting little ditty that is a very smart tease.

~Let the Right One In for a few reasons: 1. any movie that includes a woman being attacked by cats clinging to her ankles, shoulders, neck, back, chest is a-ok in my funny-book (although i'm not sure the Norwegians intended it to be funny), 2. i watched the English-dubbed version and it sounded as though the voice-overs where calling it in from their couches, stoned cretins, eating Doritos, having never seen the movie before. in other words, the voice overs were a judd apatow movie, 3. i think it's quite possibly the best title, at least of the year and 4. i loved the ending. 

~"Clever men are good, but they are not the best." -Thomas Carlyle because clever in the crafty sense gets to be sometimes too much and overrated.  there is a cleverness to kindness and i'll take that over crafty any day of the week.



hiya gang. sit for a spell. bit of exciting news on the homefront: Louie and i will be moving soon into a one-bedroom apartment! This is good because i'm starting to go a little stir crazy in my studio. it's not small by any means, but i can't help but feel the walls compressing. in reality, it's most likely my state of mind that's crumbling. the really cool thing about it is a large-ish balcony. long enough for me to stretch out and summon tan lines amongst the mint and rosemary. i've started a tomato plant as well. even better is that there is ample sunlight so my skin can soak up the vitamin d as my liver soaks up the vitamin v (or rejects it, whatever the case may b).

so busy april: the move, a beer/baseball-filled visit with my sd sis and then i'm going to see the Cold War Kids at a great venue that holds a buncha memories.  big fan (thanks, prejza).  all that and i'm trying to take on another work project so i can make my future travel a smidge more comfy. as promised, more on that later. i guess i must be superstitious because i hesitate to really write about it just yet lest i jinx it. never know how this old body is going to get in the way of things (again).

i want to raise a proverbial toast to 2 close pals of mine - you know who you are.  west coast pals and east coast pals of mine have had to put down their fuzzy buddies and that ain't easy. i take such things to the heart of my hearts.  my east coast pal is a mother of three and noted how her pooch offered up to her a different type of work and how much she appreciated it.  great way to put it. i've got to say that it's the best responsibility i've had, myself.  when i feel like i want to bemoan being owned by a dog, i realize what a privilege and fortune it is to be part of this little life and help make it better, good, great even.  never will there be another relationship so rewarding and delightful.

on the flip:

my vet checked out the lump on my buddy's neck and "declared" it "potentially cancerous". have i not had enough of this bullshit around me already? 

to check for certain is $1k. so, he either has cancer, i find out and can't afford the treatments (actually, i wouldn't wish chemo on my worst ex-boyfriend, so there'd be no need for it), or i spend the thou$and+ and find out that it was just a harmless tumor.  

some medicine i trust, some doctors i trust, most i don't. 

so no matter. i keep him in check. he romps about like a 5 year old and wags his tail enough to make me scheme over how to channel the energy to keep my lights on at nite. i honestly think the dog sleeps less than i do.  everytime i wake up, there he is, staring at me, eyes as wide as the full moon.  maybe i should flip on 'keeping up appearances'.  

all in all, all is well. 

i know snow is beautiful and quiet, i know we need the rain, but this sunshine calms me like an arm around my shoulders.

here's another 15 minuter: i need to pull away from using pronouns so much.

words: basket & route

sweet lemons

I fill my basket full with meyer lemons to give my lover.
He hasn't spoken to me since it was said that I'd kissed Manoli by the well.
It was he who kissed me and tasted of salted onions and beer. He tricked me by saying that my hem was unraveled, though I'd only just mended it.
But everyone knows that Manoli takes what he wants and is too strong for me to resist.
He is too strong even for Carmella to cast a lasting spell.
She says the best I can pray for is to get my lover to admit that he believes me. She says this with laughter for, in our village, to take the side of a woman makes you just as weak as one.

I have rubbed it so often that my St. Lazarus charm has tarnished please don't give me a broken heart please don't give me a broken heart
I kiss each lemon, place it in the basket and walk to his shed.

No one walks this route because it is overgrown with the spiny berberis but it is the shortest and I take it because I miss him.

Halfway there, a flash of silver catches my eye and I hear Manoli whistle.

~~

headed out, folks.  thanks for playing. here's to firsts and new memories.  cheers.

the physical / metaphorical properties of bubbles, or: how to keep others at bay without really trying

~'Full Moon, Empty Heart' by Belly because for some reason it makes me want to take up ballet again. wtf?

~Duplicity, because it was better than i thought it would be and totally worth it for the slow-motion beginning. and the soundtrack was fair. and my pal christian worked on it and it makes me proud of him. i love to see my friends' names in lights. maternal, i suppose.

~"Change or fail." -Don Fischer. not often i quote a sartorial tycoon, but i just love the simplicity and ultimatum-isness of this. how nice it would be if it were that cut/dry.

hiya kids.

yesterday a dear pal of mine sent a brief article titled 'when do i tell her?'. i wish the article had been longer and...just more, but i'm not altogether sure how it could have been.

the fella who was asking the question had various scars around his neck area which begged questions from girls he dated. he has a history of cancer. what type in this particular instance doesn't matter. it's a question we (singles) ask ourselves, maybe daily, but definitely when we meet people we might be interested in intimately.

do you wait until the other person divulges something personal? if you wait for that, then tell them, does it seem like you're trying to match them or 'one-up' them, or just trying to share? do you show your cards before you even have a date?

do you tell them ON your date? how much do you tell them?

just once i'd like to meet someone who doesn't freak out (correct me if i'm wrong, fellow survivors, but when you start to talk about it, do you not see the wheels turning, the eyes lower and dart...?),

meet someone who doesn't say 'i'm just not good with illness, but you can talk about it if you want' (been there)

or someone who says, 'it's not that you HAD cancer, it's that you could get it again and i don't really want to be around for that' (good riddance, steve. comments like that make me hope cancer hits you in the part of your pants where you do most of your thinking).

i don't know, gang. it's a pressing question. essentially, that's what the author wrote. he doesn't know. there's no answer. you'll just know when you meet the right person. or you won't. and then you'll adopt old dogs and write ridiculous blog entries.

today's 15 minute exercise:

words: black-bearded & lemon jade

untitled

My black-bearded papa and I boarded when I was 7. Clement weather saw us out of the slip and into the Atlantic.

I was too young to know exactly how many days we were out or why. I lost count after 14 nights.

There were others wealthier than my papa, but his straight back, mediterranean skin and finely-trimmed beard made him the most elegant man I'd ever seen. I could tell the moneyed women on board agreed. So it was odd when he turned his attentions to a squat, rather swarthy woman.

Her wiry black hair was piled high and without any reason to it. As a pair they looked like opposites in the same family. Perhaps she reminded him of someone.

When we docked at dawn in Cartagena, my papa ordered me to stay on ship. When I fussed, he promised to return with a basket of sugar-apples and an aluminum model submarine. He locked me in the room with a book on Francis Drake, a blood-thirsty fright of a man.

~

As I peered out the porthole at the glassy stars, I heard the key in the door and ran for him.

It was not my papa there, but the woman I'd secretly named Hair Pile.

~

During the days Hair Pile would keep me in the ship's sizable kitchen while she prepared heavy cream sauces and fish encrusted with Jerusalem spices. She soon broke me of my crying, but not of missing my papa.

When I had 9 years old she fashioned for me a hammock above her bunk so she could spend her nights with crew. My clothes came carefully pilfered from passengers' trunks and bartered fabrics from ports. I was landless and kin-less and I looked the part.

At 11 years I was allowed to roam the ship a tad more freely if I promised to wear shoes. I always watched the bearded men thinking that, even if not my papa, they would see me and want to take me home with them.

~

At first I picked out little girls because they smelled of marshmallow creme and soap. But they cried too quickly and one bit my arm after the telling.

So I chose little boys with whom to share my tale. I pulled them aside and told them the stories of their fathers and what could happen at the next port.

I promised to convince their fathers to keep them if the boys brought me things: a coin with a Greek silhouette, a lemon jade ring, a yellow scarf, a submarine model, a wooden flute and a pair of high-heel satin slippers.

At first the boys didn't believe me because who could believe that such a heartless father could exist? But who better to convince them than I?

~~~~~~~~~

need a refill, gang. thanks for your continued support/feedback. your emails make my day(s).

take a load off and make the most of your hump-day.

also take a look around and see if you can detect one single solitary person who couldn't benefit from a simple smile.

vena cava footprints

~'Fuck was I?' by Jenny Owen Youngs  because today was full of the question 'what the fuck was i thinking?' and i just always love a string instrument opening.  it's a strolling cynic song that best fits on a soundtrack, but sometimes, a stroll needs a soundtrack.

~Forty Shades of Blue because it's in my top 10.  may not be in 10 years, but it has been for a lot of years.  i almost very nearly hope that it doesn't resonate with me forever.

~"Everything I touch turns to shit. Everyone I try to love won't hear of it. Now my hands are over full of things I'd like to give." -the same, Jenny Owen Youngs, from her song 'Drinking Song'. bah that sounds ultra-dramatic.  i think what i really like about it is the phrase 'won't hear of it'.  you just don't hear anyone say that anymore.  'let me give you gas money.' *actually, THAT is something you don't hear anymore either* 'no please, i won't hear of it.'  it's dismissive and polite at the same time. ? also, i'm getting ready to start a book titled 'Drinking: a love story'. so there's that.

hi gang. pull up a.

i was just doing the numbers today: 35 years old.  35.  that makes my mom 69 years old.  my dad, 71. most of my schooltime pals have families of some sort or another. i'm nowhere near marriage and kids are completely outta the question for me.

in theory, the idea of marriage appeals to me so much. in reality, it's so crazy it's funny and it's so funny it's not even a joke.   don't get me wrong.  i really like married couples.  they fascinate me and, if i'm being honest here, i envy them. but i look around and, jesus, it's just me here.

not only am i not bothered by that, but i'm not bothered by the fact that i'm not bothered by that. sure, i have bouts, but in the long run...if you don't have anyone around, you don't have to shave when you don't want to, you can sleep on your own cracker/cookie crumbs in bed, you can laugh and cry whenever you want without offering explanation...i'm not going to go on about the perks of solitude.  that's the cowboy junkies' job.  i'm just letting my fingers do the thinking as i'm doing the drinking.

when i was a young girl, pre-pre-teen, i was cleaning house and my older sister said, "you're going to be a great wife." knew she meant it as a compliment. didn't think much of that until i got a little older when i thought i wanted to be either a cigarette girl (still do, kinda) or a stewardess.  those gals are on the go! i thought husbands are too heavy! (still do, kinda).

on the flip.

when i was young young college-young and having a fling with an older fella, he said to me, "you're not the marrying kind, Red." (he flew me to vegas. he asked me what to bet and i said, " 7 red", hence the name).

 it felt like a slap, but he meant it as a compliment.

i had a visual flash when he said that:

fast forward to years gone by and ______ (enter multiple names there) is sitting and staring, spacey-eyed thinking, just briefly, about our time together (could be hours, nites, years). his wife walks in.  dkny robe and good hair.  she sees him with his twilight zone eyes and asks, in passing, not really meaning it, 'what're thinking about?'  and he answers, truthfully, 

'nothing.'

clink.

empty elevators & the people who ride them

~'All the world is green' by tom waits. this song is quite possibly perfect: lamenting, romantic, brilliant lyrics, hopeful. this is one of those if i was in a relationship, this would be our song songs, but it's also intensely personal so i'm not sure i'd want to share its meaning. but it's DEFINITELY a care to dance? song.
i mean, look, this song is so good it almost brings me to climax just by filling my ear-space. i hit replay and sway as i'm doing the dishes.

~Bleu- i know, i refer to this movie all the good goddamned time, but it runs so many themes and messages and emotions yet somehow manages to keep it all contained in such a lovely photographed packaged. i recently watched it again and it struck me that you can be with someone, really with them - married, joking, fucking, looking, working, loving, fighting, driving, eating, caring, supporting- and still feel so absolutely abandoned.

~ “Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief." W. Shakespeare. as with most things that are worth anything, i've spent a lot of time with this quote. it's just…pretty.

hi gang. i don't anticipate making an entry this weekend so i thought i'd just drop a quick line or so. i'm going on nite 2 without sleep. no reason in particular except that the old noggin's been working overtime.

here's what happens when the ruler of deeannland doesn't get sleep:

*i find a collection of typos and grammatical errors totalling 7 in a hefty three-sentence construction

*i make a completely off-the-wall (but hilarious nonetheless) remark regarding a co-worker's rambunctious children & maybe something to do with ny-quil & the silent game. not for naught; the super quiet guy in the far corner let out a raucous howl thus piquing my interest. 

*in an attempt to compose a tale around the terms 'black-bearded papa' & 'lemon jade' i instead come up with two ideas for new TV shows:
'Marilyn Manson Dinner Theatre' & 'The Last Amputee Standing'.

enjoy your weekend, pals. you've been good to me. cheers and leers of the foxy-persuasion may they come your way and stay.

implications of synchronicity, diane baker, 3rd floor survivors and a coming together of what was is now

~'Brother Lee' by Citizen Cope because my silver dancing pants prove to be a hit and approve this song as a hit. just fun.

~“While her heart is still in the grave of one love affair, she is making eyes at another man." -a companion of Edna St. Vincent Millay.

~Morvern Callar, because, gruesome & despicable or not, the sight of Samantha Morton (sigh) in 70s shades, drinking brandy and prepping her bathroom for when she hacks her beau to bits...is beautiful dammit.

hi gang, pull up a tall one. a full day to relay! sometimes, things just align. don't know how else to put it.

had lunch with my pal jeff today which always sets a good tone. i love to talk to a man about scrabble. gave him his octopus and he was officially beside himself with pleasure. nice. good feeling.

next: received some terrific pics from a dear old pal from college. we were a tight-knit group and the photos feel like yesterday. seems i've had a thing for fishnets since i've been old enough to.

next: talked to sis Kel today which always makes me think of 'silence of the lambs'. she's a huge fan and i have good memories myself of going to see the flick. i'm leading up to it. sit tight.

i walked home in the late light of spring - the light that promises to caress my shoulders and carry me to my beloved sandy-beach naps - to greet my sweet captain dirtyface, Louie. tonite was his first bath at the hairgrove hotel.

to prepare for his bath i headed to my local for some treats (jerky for Lou, bubbly for me). so i sidled up to this tasty boy in grocery line 4, but when i looked to the lady in the next line, a bolt of lightning, kids, a bolt! anyway, line4boy was too much a hippie for my tastes.

a bottle of wine, asparagus, a magazine, et cetera...she seemed a tad frazzled, harried even, but she looked at me. i smiled, she smiled. then i asked "senator martin?" ...she looked at me with a question mark and cock of her head, smirked and said "yea, yep." kids, senator martin from 'silence of the lambs'!! i said, "you did a two-hour episode of Columbo. the commander episode."

kids, i met Diane Baker! what a doll. she said that she heard peter wasn't doing so well & had i heard (uhm, yea), she'd tried to call him without success. we chatted a tad then said tah tah.

so fun.

i beat it home to give Louie his bath--a perfect gentleman! he's currently super-poop'd and splayed on the couch.

the real reward of the day comes next:

a fellow stupid cancer happy hour attendee and i have played tag with the last couple of happy hours. she's there when i'm not & vice versa. i added her on facebook and noticed she's listed some info about where she works. ...it's the same place where i work. small world yea?

she's a victim of a rare form of cancer for which there is next to nil re: research.

www.dtrf.org

since there's no research (read: interest), this sweet biscuit is starting a fundraiser/party. her beau plays in a blues band with john lee hooker's nephew & it's sure to be a dancin' bash. i'll be writing a press release or two for it so stay tuned over the next few months.

60% of the victims of this type of cancer suffer recurrence and many, amputation, due to lack of research>primitive "treatment". my gal's friend is going back into surgery this week and we're all crossed-fingers and hope.

just so happens that i'm freelancing for an orthotis/prosthetist.

1+1+1 = full circle. i'm looping him in on the fundraiser, and hopefully, some results will come from this lovely coincidence. at the least, comes support and resources.

i'm spent, kids. thanks for your emails about the previous post. so many of us. it's weird. it's unusual, but it isn't. and that's too bad. but it isn't.

where discombobulation is a way of life: deeannland! make yourself at home. i love to have you. kisses and near misses. clink.

not nothing

~'Running up that hill' by Placebo. i know i know- Kate Bush did it first and best, but their version is truly stimulating. i first heard it on 'CSI: Las Vegas'…and i effing hate that show…but there's an end scene where jorga fox (cool chick) lets her face just own everything and it gives me chills.

~You Can't Take it With You because the title seems apropos today and it's a goofy tale with some sweet performances. Anarchism, false arrest, consumerism, eccentricities? a true feel-gooder.

~"You've got a great set of gams, Hairgrove" -my chiro dude. thanks doc!

hi gang-

not going to lay any exercise copy on you. i relay the above quote because it felt good to hear that. i've taken stock of my stuff and it ain't bad. i don't need anyone to tell me that, but it sure felt nice to hear it. once in a while, i like to be reminded. a great number of readers have emailed me with stories about how cancer (yes, there it is AGAIN. the other C word) does a number on your confidence level. on the one hand, we feel like awesome victors with unparalleled tolerance, and on the other hand…unappealing wastes of space.

i've been freelancing for this pretty remarkable guy who invents and fabricates prosthetic limbs. i've interviewed about 15 of his patients and their stories are our stories: lose a part of your body >> feel inadequate and embarrassed. you can't help it. all the logic and well-meaning advice-givers tell you about how it's a badge, it's what makes you unique blah blah blah. there are other ways to display my uniqueness.

i've had any number of people say I shouldn't be so concerned since, with clothes on (and a padded bra and only the right kinds of "careful" shirts) you could never tell i've had a mastectomy. to someone such as me who is tremendously sensual by nature and loves skin-on-skin and intimacy…looking decent in your clothes is only part of the situation. it's a horribly personal and sensitive issue. don't get me wrong, i'm the first to shout out my good fortune, but…i miss my breast. that's just the truth. i'm getting a lot better about missing it and maybe someday, someone will look at me and just love no matter what it looks like. if i ever have the courage to let anyone in.

again, i don't require that kind of confirmation, but just like the long legs comment, it helps lift my spirit and that can't be anything but a good thing.

just for today, and at this moment, i know i'm not unbeautiful.

~'Conquest' by The White Stripes because it begs, borrows and steals.

~'Arrested Development' because when did Jason Bateman get so yummy and fun to watch?

~"For the crown you've placed upon my head

Feels too heavy now
And I don't know what to say to you
But I'll smile anyhow
And all the time I'm thinking

I want to be a hunter again
I want to see the world alone again
To take a chance on life again
So let me go." -Dido, because i forgot how good independence feels.

hi gang! typing at you on Morning 1 after Nite 1 on the new bed. a queen-size sleep number. plenty of room to stretch and it doesn't sag like a second chin! bliss i tell ya. and, perhaps more importantly, Louie likes it too.

much news on the front lately: i begin passport proceedings next week. more on that later.

headed to the hospital in a few so i'll just do a quick drop of some more exercises. thanks for staying, playing and parlaying. i send a wink and a clink and happy weekend wishes.

~~~~~~~~

celery root

Ugliness is the predominant trait, but you're a woman and so, forgiving. Shortly, its gnarls and sworls become quite endearing. You'll see, it's mild inside. It's like a man you don't like at first.

Don’t be intimidated by the large pot. After it's filled, you're soon surrounded with warm earth.
Be reasonable with the choppings of onion and rational with the portion of potato. Measure with your eyes and your intuition. Ingenuity requires it.

Don’t forget the soup stone! I keep mine in my apron pocket. The stone will let you know where it wants to live outside the pot.

Garnish with lovage and soigne bleu.
As you pull apart bread to serve with the stew, say this little prayer -

please love these hands
please love these hands
as they keep my soup stone warm.

words: predominant & intimidate

~~~~~

circumstances

The ocean prepares a woman for loss
as a first kiss readies her for bruises
so the seamstress teaches her daughter to lie.


The way the insomniac styles her hair
as sad as dimples gone unnoticed
so trained is a timid eye.

As silence makes a meal strange
the way morning makes a mother sick
so the placement of his hand did cast this dye.

words: train & meal

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ven con Migo

To stop a man from cheating, plant a bovine liver in the whore's front yard. Place a swatch of red velvet in her letter box and she'll know what it's for.
To receive his full attention in the evenings, greet him at the door wearing a tangerine scarf. Place a plump green pepper next to the wine. For optimal concentration, shall his glass be made of crystal.

Does your child sleep on his stomach? If he ignores your commands with heavy-lidded reserve, let him be. He is not simple, the little one is clairvoyant. Kiss his eyelids -first left, then right, then left again. Best to place a pearl on his bedside should he foresee too much.

For a woman who hesitates to marry, rub her nape with butter while she sleeps. Then make her a gift of fresh fish. Very important that it lose no scales in the giving.
For a woman who only births little girls, light a blood candle in the morning and ask her to wear rouge to church on Sunday.
If she is greedy for your affection, do not drink wine out of crystal.

words: optimal & clairvoyant

~~~~~

cheers!

~'Never Get Old' by Sinead O'Connor because it's a slow-motion moving song and it feels like an 'i came to the show by myself' song.

~Girl 27, an investigative flick based on a true story (from 65 years ago) of a rape victim hired along with a hundred or so other girls to perform a dance routine for MGM studio heads. not only did no one have to pay for the brutality, but her reputation was ruined and she eventually disappeared. oddly enough, her daughter went to work in the police force, retired due to injury, and taught a criminal justice class that my sister took. some may disagree, and i might even disagree with myself at some point, but sex crime is the most brutal and ever-lasting type of victimization imaginable.

~"The man least dependent upon the morrow goes to meet the morrow most cheerfully.", Epicurus


clearly, i'm working no theme tonite. i've got a party to attend tonite and some wicked boots to go with it. just going to drop in a couple of my marathon'd tales. i wonder if it's better if i tell you what words i was assigned AFTER the tale. ....hrmmm. let's try it.

here we go.

~~~

Mr. Porter

The kids think I'm a dolt. I'm not that much older than they are, that's the thing.
Like them, I want to yell YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M CAPABLE OF.

Part of me wants to explain my 'marshmallow shoe', tell them about the scar tissue. Tell them I played every sport. Part of me thinks they'd throw some sympathy my way, collectively say 'Hey, he's had it rough. Let's ease up on the guy.' and then volunteer to wash the eggs off my car.

Most of the kids drive new cars. They park in the teacher's lot but they aren't supposed to. Most days I end up parking on the street. I've had that car for 9 and 1/2 years.

Part of me wants to tell them that the consequence of injury is Geometry.

words: marshmallow & consequence

~~~~~~~

Courtesy of a Bandit

I could have worked at hospital or university. Certainly I've brains for it,
just not the proper tolerance.
I could never sit through seminar or academy conference with such windbags and their abrupt pomp. Not for me, I'm afraid.


I can lay in wait for hours, cramped in a crawl space waiting for a couple to leave; I have the ability to stand still long enough, silent enough until a family finally sleeps, not scratching my ear, not clearing my throat, not once.

Regard these nice velvet slippers which I prop upon a lounge chair. Regard the lounge on the deck of this ship for which I purchased a transatlantic ticket. In full, with paper money.

I have all of my hair which is kissed with silver just where it ought to be. My smoking jacket has someone else's monogram on it, but it is hand-stitched and lined with satin cool to the touch.

I'm lean, not winded. My custom- to eat slowly, to eat with my eyes, my nose and tongue, to leave on my plate several bites of food no matter how divine.
To leave a woman wanting, no matter how much of a gift she makes herself. This manner trumps all others as it can be learned but never taught.

I sip champagne, stamp a cigarette, request a dance in one fluid sweep. This evening, I've my eye on the widow with the ivory cone to her ear. I believe it safe to say that not one in this sizeable dining room has noticed the andalusite snap on her clutch.

I am a purveyor of purpose. Those I visit are ultimately thankful.
Once I've gone, they feel the fortune they have left.


words: trump & abrupt
~~~

cheers all. thanks for your comments and curiosities. clink.

taking stock, quietly

~'Knights of Cydonia' by Muse because it reminds me of sitting in the passenger's seat of my pal Christian's car, driving in LA. it's a good place to be sitting.

~Repulsion, hey rocky! watch me pull a rabbit outta my purse! but seriously, some of Deneuve's stares make perfect sense to me.

~"...this girl I see has grown so unfamiliar/and as she stands to leave with a stranger by her side/she can't help but laugh at a life grown so peculiar." -Cowboy Junkies, because that's me recently.

hiya gang, it's early-ish on the fifth day of the week. i've got a weekend packed with activity so i wanted to get my well-wishings out before i depart. i wish you well.

i've got a couple more tales to share, but before i do, something interesting to report about the untitled one.
if you haven't been keeping up, here are my self-imposed rules to get my ass back in gear and churning copy again:
1. assign myself 2 random words
2. give myself 15 minutes to write a tale surrounding those words
3. pencil to paper and it must be complete in 15 minutes and all tweaks and alterations are to be completed within those 15 minutes. it's not that i'm limiting myself so much as i'm just trying to get. it. out.
4. generally, i title it (or not) after it's written but once in a while a word will tug at my brainsleeve and say 'i should be paired with those other two words'.

so something really cool happened when i went to title untitled. i was writing ferociously, finished ferociously and immediately titled it "cape cod, 1914". i swear to Sara Lee that i don't know anything about cape cod or why the year 1914 crept in. i've scraped my days and happenings and could find nothing that would spark this date. hand to Godot.

so i got curious about what the f** that date meant and it lead to some really really fascinating research. i love research almost as much as i love deadlines. turns out to be a great story about this fella named August Belmont, Jr. here's what i uncovered:

on july 29, 1914 wealthy NY financier August Belmont opened the Cape Cod Canal. the isthmus was cut and cape cod effectively became an island.

Belmont's toll was too expensive for mariners. even if it could have accommodated their pockets, it certainly didn't accommodate their vessels. with too narrow a width and too shallow a depth, mariners bypassed the canal and used the standard outer routes.

-Belmont was a harvard grad and known sprinter. responsible for introducing spiked track shoes to the US.
-he owned/bred race horses, built Belmont Park Racetrack.
-he was one of the earlies investors of Interborough Rapid Transit, NY Subway. he owned the world's only private subway car which he used to give free tours of the transit. the car's name is Mineola.

one of his race horses, named Rock Sand. Belmont sold him and Rock Sand was taken, along with many other wealthy americans' horses on account of the anti-betting laws in NY, to europe.

because of his finely-strung temperament (most likely inbreeding and stress), Rock Sand developed a number of nervous habits, among them gorging himself on his straw bedding and kicking and throwing himself against the walls of his stall, frequently injuring himself
this prompted the owners to pad his stall and replace his bedding with sawdust.

Rock Sand's heart stopped on July 20, 1914--9 days before Belmont opened Cape Cod Canal.


there's a great tale in there. enjoy and thanks for staying. happy week's end. cheers.

~~

words: torpid & silver

untitled



Our women wait for the new moon before cutting the children's hair. They bury
the tips in the evening sand behind a makeshift, yellow-birch fence.

A horseshoe moon means a dry season approaches.
A season so dry that not even the hale and hearty beach plum will answer.

There was such a moon when fever struck your body. The wood of our house cracked as if to let the salt air in to please you. The house claims and protects you with a suspicious ardor.

When our women came with silver bread and sea carrots to rid you of the curse, the house would not allow them entrance. They declared us dire and let loose our goats.

We had five days of night and winds that whipped the sea grass with violence. When next the moon swelled, the house heaved a torpid sigh and your fever broke.

Our goats found their way back, wide-eyed and bleating, through the front door. Their harried return blew in whorls of baby hair and sand.



~~


words: admit & nothing

Sweatshirt

He backed out of the kitchen and into the snow, barefoot and breathing.
The house had taken on a smell of ages with nothing to show but stains.
Pockets of his sweatshirt had been haphazardly filled with coins and a stop watch
and an article from the local paper
A Baby in Arms is Worth a Thousand Dollars

His uncle had been taken in cuffs and a flash, admitting nothing.

He could time how long it would take for his feet to freeze or how quickly they would carry him across the Line.
He left the landscape to its own accusing quiet.

~~~
fin

Slow Strum

~'Keep their headz ringin' ' by Dr. Dre because he manages to rap "call me Clearasil" and still look like a bad-ass. what??

~Jack the Bear. it's tender and who couldn't use a little right about now?

~"El Tiempo No Importa"



words: legume & proboscis

Understory


Mister Picture-Meyer suffers full-moon symptoms whenever the Red Widow approaches.
All nicotine and brass she asks, 'What's that for?' and points to the calipers.
He's still explaining as she walks away.
'And what about that?'
'That's my lunch.'
'Tragedy.'

It's two days before she visits again issuing a command with the confidence that only hips and cashmere can afford. Seven-thirty and he's responsible for dessert.

Mister Picture-Meyer is buttoned-up and knocking on her door. He's brought books and star fruit.

'What're them books for?' leads to his explanation of the differences between Assassin Bugs and Ambush Bugs, though both in the same order Hemiptera.
He just about loses her until he presents the photo of the Wheel Bug Nymph with its proboscis penetrating a Satin Moth larva. The Red Widow's hand touches his as she reaches for the book. She wears a bumble bee brooch.

Mister Picture-Meyer is silently thrilled when she presents her dish of legumes and mayo and it looks like a bowl of bugs.

not much today, kids. i'm too tired of doctor appointments to make much sense today and not come off as sounding really pissed.

as always, thanks for playing, heads & spirits up. cheers.

Name That Propellant

~'The girl you lost to cocaine' by Sia because determination can be lovely.

~Mac, because it's a nice story about determination, quality, values and i love to see Turturro and Borowitz (his wife since 1985) act together.


~"The woods are lovely, dark and deep./But I have promises to keep,/And miles to go before I sleep/And miles to go before I sleep." -Robert Frost because...yea.

hi gang-

looks as though yours truly will soon be buying a new bed. i'm loathe to spend so much money on something that seems like just an elevation of the floor, but what with my janky hip and collapsing spine...it's proven necessary. besides, no point in having silver dance pants if i can't wiggle. as with most things, i like firm so firm is what i'm going with. i must say, whatever that bed is that lindsay wagner advertises looks pretty choice. heck, if it's good enough for the bionic woman...
good news today: vitamin d has made an effort to peek around the blanket of clouds. it's not scheduled to last, but i'll take what i can get and be happy with it. mind you, that attitude doesn't stretch very far across topics.

getting right to it.

words: blur & bib

Seamstress

Once you get the invitation your nights are all determined.

The first night you measure your hips. They're sad and alone and strangers to touch.
Competing for attention is your crooked bust. The trick is to hide it with a velvet lattice bib.

Night two and you're polishing shoes. Blur the scuffs with wax and sticky ribbon. And that'll just have to do.

On night three you pink your complexion with all-over dreams that make you smile. For the darkness your teeth are thankful.

The fourth night finds you in curling bows. Your hair looks littered with moths. Practice sitting and sidelong glances and don't forget to breathe.

The fifth night he never shows.

~~

words: ridiculous & nectarines (didn't use the word nectarine, rather, used a type of nectarine- august red...just fit better in a more poeticalish kinda way)

untitled

3.15 in the morning and there's no light spying.
I tiptoe down the dark hall, into the guest bathroom and flip on a nightlight.
It's enough.
My hair stays put in a makeshift knot. Seated on the tub, the water's running warm but quiet. I shave my legs with a leisure almost, by now, unrecognizable. This kind of unhurried moment is so foreign I nearly panic. What's my excuse if found here?
This is my time of year: the temperature of honey. Honey, which never spoils.

These ridiculous guest towels -satin clamshell embroidery- they've never been used.

'Scarlet Cathedral' redefines my lips. I debate over whether the towel should be folded and placed back on the shelf. Yes. Yes it should. In my mind it's just courteous.

By the back door, my sneakers are co-conspirators telling me to hurry.
True to season, there's a bowl of August Reds on the table. I take one. I take another.


In his room up the hall, the baby starts to cry.

I slip off my wedding band, leave it on the kitchen sink and lock the door behind me.

~~

always lock your doors, kids.
cheers. fin.

this just in

...under 5 minutes.

words: reprobate & intensity (thanks, ma!)

Last call

The first time you heard me laugh was at you.
I called you a reprobate drunk and you thought it was a mixed-bag compliment, high-minded and back-handed.
Night after night you came to the bar, sat in my section and flirted with the intensity of a man trying to remember his own name.
When you said that I had legs long enough to follow you home, I pulled the pen out of my hair and wrote down my number.

~

going for tapas tonite, gang. beer and potatoes! is a toast unto itself! clink, fin.

no funeral pie for me, please

~'Rise' by Public Image Ltd because it's full of "or" and "could be".

~Muddy Waters: Can't be Satisfied, an enthralling doc about a fascinating, talented fella whose mama was disappointed in him until the day she died. Unbelievable.

~"Never forget what a man says to you when he is angry." -Henry Ward Beecher. Listen, take it to heart, roll it around your tongue, then spit it out.

hi gang-

pull up a drink and have a seat. so i don't know where you are while you read this, but from my perch there is no sign of vitamin d making an appearance anytime too soon. the rain is persistent and i'm tired of waiting for warmth. so i create my own: i just bought a pair of betty boop cigarette pants, i'm learning the art of eyeliner, i bought a pair of silver dancin' pants and best of all, i brought home 50 pounds of 12 year old sweetness by the name of Louie. he's an old mutt and we're getting on swimmingly. my charming sis has nicknamed him King Louie if that gives you any indication of how i dote on him.

recently, i've been completely disappointed in myself (well, that bit isn't so recent) and mad at myself for having dropped my writing habit. *is it a habit? i gotta come back to that one.

so, i've put myself on a marathon mission. every day, i assign myself two random words that i must use in a tale within 15 minutes. i'm not sayin' they're publishable, but i am writing again. so for you poor suckers who are still here reading, i'm going to post. the point is to get my brain wrinkled and i find that a deadline, self-imposed or otherwise, is this gal's best friend. here are a coupla. in no particular order.

words: stainless steel

Nelda has all she needs

Nine-year-old Nelda has a stainless steel smile that she's proud of.
What that smile means is that she's the first in her family to
have a reason to smile. That smile means a greeting and a greeting
is the first thing you need to get a job
and a job is the thing you need to get money.
And money will buy her ma some flowers.

~

words: medallion & mulligrubs

Gardening at night

In an effort to keep the peace, Ms. Meriwether buried the jar in her garden.
Suspecting that the sight of the jar's components would dismay her neighbors, she buried it at night.
Though she'd claimed them fair-and-square, she was not an unreasonable woman when it came to the sensitivities of others. In fact, she took, albeit modest, pride in her considerate ways.

When rumor about Bertie's husband went round, Ms. Meriwether denied, teary-eyed, that she'd even heard it, much less sent mouths wagging from out her parlor. Then invited Bertie in for cognac.
-one brass semper fi medallion

When Lou came to and complained about her stones, Ms. Meriwether said, "Come into the light, dear, and let's look at how clear your blue eyes appear."
-three emerald buttons and one encrusted bumble bee brooch

Rather than rally with the rest against McMurray's yapping pooch, Ms. Meriwether offered the limping mutt scraps to cure his mulligrubs and occupy him otherwise.
-two yellowed incisors

That poor Mexican boy who tended the lawns was certainly not to blame for dead gardenias. Ms. Meriwether would not hear such patter and fixed him cold orange-flower water.
-one ivory cross on rope

No, the street had not been the same for some time now. Ms. Meriwether would not contribute to the unrest herself. So, she buried the jar in the night garden and marked the spot with a verdigris pedestal. In the light of day, she filled it with water to watch the dainty chirps bathe and sparkle.

~
words: wazoo & lacy

Dig

It was the passenger's seat what brought us together.
Purportedly, the blasted springs prodded your wazoo in an unpleasant way.
So we all three loaded up into the back for rides to the sight. Tight fit, as you might imagine in a British fourth-hand moto.

At first, rides back to camp tried us. We smelled like lacy cheese and mud dung, but knowing hot showers and gin & tonics waited, our jostled stenches fed our humour.
Even the driver spoke the language of stink and laughed with us, head out the window.

Thing is, we found nothing on the dig but each other really. McRay excavated the springs from the passenger's and we smiled to ourselves all the way back to our respective homes, looking forward to Copenhagen.

all for now, pals. thanks for playing. cheers clink!

deeannland is closed until vitamin d is more prevalent.  thank you readers.