Wednesday, March 30, 2005

Maybe Not Quite as I Remembered...

kiss army
But for those of you that read the KISS tribute will appreciate this photo.
Please note the tiny tape recorder and Robin Carrick's most awesome Paul Stanley face.
And here's our most scary rockin' poses:
Ah yes, terribly scary in those shetland sweaters, eh.....
Oh, these photos make me so happy...
Okay, if you insist, just a couple more:
robin carrick, jaye and cousin sara
Here again we find that heavy rockers do not necessarily wear black leather, sometimes they wear monogrammed froggie sweatshirts and carry babies around. (That is my cousin Sara on the end, although it looks like me)
And finally, my favorite....a tiny respectful nod to Gene Simmons with a pretty barette to match.
tiny gene

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

Great News!

My dear friend "digital cowgirl" (some of you know her as Ms. Werner) has a new blog.
She is an awesome story teller so be sure to check it out....
Why are we in this hand basket?
It's gonna be goooood!

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

I Should Have Had a V8

I should have had a V8!
I should have had a V8!,
originally uploaded by Anessa.
He just keeps getting cuter...What a ham!


Having people look through your house while you're not home is kinda weird.

Being fully aware it is the most necessary part of selling a home, it still makes me feel funny knowing people are looking through our closets, our pantry, our bar and our basement.

Before I grabbed the dogs and headed out the door for today's showing, I made some last minute adjustments.

I arranged my underwear basket in the closet so the "this is a great home" pair was on top of the heap.
I arranged the garden tools so the "this is an awesome backyard" rake was visible,
and I made most visible, the magazines that assured an unmistakable "very cool people live in this neighborhood" vibe.

Tonight when I came from the showing, I could tell the potential buyers had been sitting at the kitchen table.
The toilet lids were up, they had possibly examined our bottle of moonshine and the back door was unlocked.
Guess they didn't read my post about my obsessive door lock checking rules.

No biggie really, though.
I'm happy they felt at home enough to do those sorts of things, but I wonder if they noticed the nice panties, the rake and the Sophisticated Living magazine I so carefully arranged for their visit.

I guess I'll never know.

Friday, March 18, 2005

Ever Dealt with a Yellow-Tailed Boo Boo?

originally uploaded by Anessa.
Well, you know how we have been keeping the house ultra clean for the realtor's showings?
It's nearly impossible, but I'm managing to stay on top of it pretty well.
That is until I kept finding a strange yellow film all over the place this morning.
I mean all over the place .

It's on the bathroom rugs.
It's on the door jams.
It's on the bedspread.
It's very hard to remove.

What the heck is this stuff?

Is it pee? No. Definitely not.
Is it pollen? Nah, too early for pollen.
Is it paint? Ah ha! Why yes, it appears to be
paint, but why and how??
It's almost the same color as the flowers from the dog in the garden portrait I'm working on.

Is it on me?
No. I'm clueless.
How.... did..... it....... ????

Stumped, standing in the hallway with my roll of paper towels,
enter stage left, frisky pup Brucie Boy.
Sitting at my feet, begging me to play, panting and wagging his tail furiously, as he always is.
"Hey Boo Boo, baby. Do you know what this stuff is?"
Brucie cocks his head...
He is also clueless as to how it got there.
Wag, wag, wag, wag,
pant, pant, pant, pant,
glimpse of yellow, glimpse of yellow, glimpse of YELLOW!?

Bruce's whole tail is saturated with deep golden yellow oil paint.
My detective powers kick in and I realize I leaned the dog painting up against the wall, on the floor of my studio, while working on the principal's portrait.
Brucie apparently wagged his tail all over my painting.
Oh, that's classic.
I kinda hate learning this type of life's lessons.

Wednesday, March 16, 2005


What an interesting fellow.
Long live BikerFox!

Saturday, March 12, 2005

KISS Flipped the Tiny Switch

My sister and I were 8 and 11 and in the habit of using our imaginations and creativity for complex projects.
Spring was just about to wake up and after too many winter months of building hide-outs and working on our coal bin basement clubhouse, it was time to get some fresh air and take our ideas outside.
We knew what we wanted to our next project to be, all we needed were some warmer temperatures. We could sense they were right around the corner so we got to work right away.

The first step of our project took days of indoor preparation.
Being that our family rarely ever just had the radio on for no reason, we actually had to sit down with the intent of making a cassette tape to suit our needs. As we waited patiently for specific songs to come on the radio, we drew up some general plans to get organized. Keeping the tape recorder right next to the stereo speaker ensured we could catch the beginning of the songs sufficiently while we got down to business.
This was the hardest most technical step in our project.

Secondly, we needed to choose our costumes.
Careful consideration was given to this project because the costumes we would wear were slightly more important than the music we would be pretending to play. Our 'grubbby' jeans, snow boots, and matching Kentucky jackets with the white leather sleeves seemed to fit the tough rock image we were trying to project.

Next, we practiced applying our make up. We spent hours on end at a tiny dressing table opening tubes and examining colors. Experimentation proved that Mom's Avon blue-green frosty shadow was a suitable substitute for silver. We also discovered that if you used the tip of the mascara wand you could get a pretty good black outline. It was more theatrical, thicker and darker than the liquid eyeliner we originally used in our earlier tests.

There was also the very important consideration of set design.
By using both sets of picnic tables from the back patio, we found we could build a dual-level stage. Picnic benches made great ramps. We arranged one on either side of the stage and also extended one straight out into the audience for crucial crowd interaction and air guitar solos.
We arranged our platform halfway back on the natural incline of the lawn to get maximum stage presence.

Instruments were then chosen and practiced.
I had a small, yet complete, drum set Santa had delivered only a couple of months earlier, and my sister had an electronic guitar shaped Superstar 2000. I would take the back stage, she would be the front man.
I practiced twirling my drum sticks in the air and she perfected the lead guitar stance.

Finally, all that was left to arrange was an audience.
If the neighborhood kids couldn't make it, Mom and Dad would always fill in, and we could imagine the rest of the screaming fans pretty easily. It was easy to imagine the screaming fans everywhere, even in the balcony.
The balcony being the tree house, to the left of the stage, of course.

So were were all set to go, it was now show time.
Our imaginations were plugging along full steam as we climbed up onto the stage made from picnic tables and pressed "play" on the little tape recorder.

Our imaginations told us we were no longer two little girls from Georgetown, Kentucky.
We imagined we were rough and tough, in our leather sleeves, up on those tables.
The moment our feet left the grass and stepped onto the stained redwood planks, we became someone else.
We took our positions, and when the music kicked in, we became rock 'n roll.
We became KISS.

Imaginations can be quite powerful. Even with my long blonde hair, football jacket, and frosty eye shadow all over my face, I was convinced I was doing a great Peter Chris. I can remember the feeling so well, even as I sit here typing this many, many years later.
In my mind, we weren't in my backyard in Smalltown, USA jumping around on outdoor patio furniture.
We were dodging pryotechnics in a huge arena, with the KISS Army cheering us on.
We were rockin'.
Absolutely rockin' our grade school hearts out.

There was something about the band KISS that made us, and tons of other kids, want to emulate them.
Now, looking back, I think it was their masterful use of imagination that spoke to the kids.

When KISS came on the scene, suddenly hundreds of thousands of kids, all began wearing crazy make-up and using their imaginations to the fullest extent.
Some kids had real instruments. Some were completely air band style. It didn't matter.
In our pre-adolescent minds, we were all monsters of rock.

You might be happy to know that while KISS has long since removed their make-up for public outings, they are still inspiring the youth of today. And, while many of us have grown-up and hung-up the Superstar 2000s, KISS is still performing, most of the time in their costumes and makeup.
Still transforming themselves through the power of imagination from middle aged men to otherworldly beings.
Still using those same powerful imaginations that we used when we were children.
They didn't hang their imaginations up with their childhood plastic guitars.
No, they kept right on.

In fact, on a reunion tour about 6 years ago, I got the incredible opportunity to work as a caterer backstage.
My food table was located very close to the band's dressing room and I got to witness, first hand, some of the most powerful and influential imaginations of my time, up close and personal.

The men that walked out of that dressing room, were not the same ones that had entered a few hours earlier.
The transformation that took place was wildly amazing and I must admit, it was one of the defining moments of my life.
They went in as men. Cool men, but men nonetheless.
When they came out,however, they were transformed. Not even closely resembling the humans that I had smiled at earlier.
The came out as the stuff legends are made of.

I decided, pretty much at that moment, that I needed to exercise my own imagination a little more. It made me sad that I was 29 years old and had already succumbed to wearing blazers and having a blonde bob. I had quit dreaming of being and artist, or a rock star and I was working at the mall.
I had hung up my imagination.
I didn't mean to.
It just kind of happened.
And with that revelation I decided to change.
I started my change that night as the band stepped onto the stage.
I let my death grip on practicality loosen a little and I let myself enjoy the show with the wonderment of a child.
I recalled the picnic tables and the tiny tape recorder. I played a little air guitar that night and I twirled imaginary sticks.
The more I stretched my imagination, the happier I became.
A tiny little switch was turned back on inside my soul and I was better for it.

I guess I'm sharing my story with you in hopes that you might do the same.
The next time you find yourself wanting to wail on some air guitar, I would like to encourage you to do so.
Even if you are alone, or in your car, or in the shower. I don't think it really matters if anyone sees you.
It only matters if you do it or not.
So go a ahead,
I'll bet you have a sweet solo buried right below the surface,
and you never know... it just might be good for your soul, too.

Friday, March 11, 2005

Ola, Oogle!

I love to google.

I google myself a lot.
Is that egotistical of me?

And I google you guys a lot, too.
Just nosey, I suppose.

Sometimes I google things like "pink ostrich feathers", just out of curiosity.

I have even googled Google...
(that's how I stumbled across this crazy peach of a sermon.)

But that's beside the point.
I assure you, I am trying to make a point.
Well, a suggestion really, to the folks at Google.

My favorite way to google is the 'image search' option.
It's loads of fun, quite enlightening and you can spend hours just looking at crazy images.
So my suggestion is this:
I believe 'Google image search' should just be called oogle.
It would make more sense. After all, isn't that what I am doing all that time?

Seems kinda like someone should have come up with that before me.
Maybe they have.
Anyhoo, thats my suggestion to the folks at Google.

Thursday, March 10, 2005

Where is world is San Poshio?

Lookie what I found whilst googling:
Not just a jar with one sparkle in it, but a whole jar of sparkles.
It is the sort of thing you sprinkle...
or so the ad suggests that one would use them for sprinkling.
Slightly bizarro, and quite wonderful.

I love to sprinkle sparkles.
In fact, many years ago, I wanted to open a nightclub called The Glitterbox.
The gimmick (cause you gotta have a gimmick)
would be to have glitter
(see: sparkles for sprinkling, above)
on all the tables and all over the floor,
and a disco ball, of course.

The genius of this idea would be that you couldn't escape The Glitterbox without sparkling.
The glitter that stuck to you when you exited the club, would be, in effect, free advertising.
For example:
Teasingly said, "Looks like someone's been to The Glitterbox!"
Or braggingly announced, "Oh man, we got so Glitterboxed last night."
The potential for it's own lingo was phenomenal.
Not to mention, sparkling, in all scenarios, is festive.

So, it was a brilliant idea until I realized there was a hole in my marketing theory.
The hole being this: it only takes the removal of one letter
and then you would be getting litterboxed instead of Glitterboxed.
Not quite as cool.
I would imagine, justifiably so, that no one would like getting litterboxed.
I could never get over my discovery and the club closed it doors before opening.

Alas, it was just a fleeting idea.

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

Sweet Baby Sladen

originally uploaded by Anessa.
Is this the sweetest face you've ever seen?
He belongs to my sister Jaye. What a doll!

Monday, March 07, 2005

802 East Washington

Well, it's official. Our home is now on the market. Our friend and realtor, Jo Bishop , came by Sunday and stuck the sign in the yard.
It was a relief to get the sign up, but I felt kinda sad.

I'm going to miss this house an awful lot...and in a very strange way, I think the house might be sad we are leaving, too.
We have been a good fit. We love our old home and in return it has been very good to us.

Old homes can be so amazing. Not only are they grand, in a way that is impossible to re-create, but they share so much history with you. Sometimes when I am watching TV in the front room I try to imagine what was happening in that very same room 100 years ago. What were the people were wearing? What was going on outside on the street? What was for dinner?
I think of all the people that have lived here and what they did in the evenings, before American Idol and Desperate Housewives and Mexican take-out meals. I try to imagine of all the holidays and the parties and the daily goings-on.
It's neat to be part of something that just keeps on going. Soon, Mark and I will be just a couple of names on the cast of characters in the story of 802 East Washington Street.

Yes, I'm gonna miss this old house.
The very best parties we ever had were in this house.
The most fun ever had around a kitchen table was in this house.
We learned how to conserve natural gas and the art of clothes-layering in this house.
We adopted Bruce, planted things and replaced appliances in this house.
We had fun, and lots of it.

The house, as well as the neighborhood, is full of great energy and possibility. You can feel the shift happening.
We have watched Butchertown grow and be re-discovered by folks that used to never come 'downtown'.
It a cool house on a cool street in a very cool town.

Yes, I'm going to miss it more than I thought.

802 east washington
802 east washington,
originally uploaded by Anessa.

Wednesday, March 02, 2005


So there we were. Trying not to look at each other.
Trying not to act like something was weird between us.
For a moment there was a long lull in the conversation among our friends.
Unusual. It must be 20 after, I thought to myself.
My heart leapt into my throat when the moderate silence continued... I should say something.
This is my chance to mend fences. Now, while everyone is laughing. Something lighthearted.
Something not-stupid.
"Um, so."
The eyes that were wandering around the room quickly landed straight on me.
Eyes that were just waiting for an opportunity to stare me down.
"Um, so. Where have you been lately?"
A cool reply followed my shallow question,
"Plenty of places."

A tall man in his late 40's forced his way though the crowd and paused right between us.
I was relieved at the temporary physical separation, then he moved on.
Like thick ooze the crowd quickly regained it former shape, forcing us back together again. This time more closely.

I faked an akward smile and circled the straw in my glass.
I glanced at the clock on the wall.
When I looked back the eyes were elsewhere, but the ears were all mine.
They were listening with anticipation.
"I'm sorry I spilled the beans about you and Pat."
With lightening speed the eyes were back. "Excuse me? What did you say?"
"I said, " this time quite loudly, "I'm sorry I told everyone about you and Pat."
At a minimum, three deep in the crowd, in all directions, heard my announcement and began to giggle.
Their heads turned away, both embarrassed and amused.
"WHAT? I can't believe you!" Baffled and quite angered. " I'm mad that you took my parking space out front... You, you told people about PAT?"
The word Pat was said with such force it made my hair move.

Oh boy.
"Uh-huh. Yeah. Sorry about that."

"Wow, you really are something, aren't you?"
With a whip of the head and a click of the heels, the conversation ended.

While I stood marveling at my gift of confession, my friends oozed into the now obviously vacant space next to me and patted me on the back.

It was agreed by all that I really was something , but we weren't sure exactly what that would be.
Laughter trumped the conversation for a moment and I pledged to apologize next time we ran into each other.
Cocked eyebrows were the response to my proposal.

Maybe I'll just let this one slide.
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