Remember that time you gave me the ants?

One of my best gal pals, Malo, surprised me with a small, blue vase she bought at an art school. There were wild flowers crowding the stem, which she had picked while singing and prancing, thinking of me--but that's her version of the story. My story kicks in an hour or so later, when we were waving our goodbyes. I placed the tiny gifted ceramic in between my legs for the drive home to ensure its safe travels. Once parked, I realized that there were ants crawling everywhere. And not just any ants, the bitey kind. I began slapping myself on all exposed skin and hunting down the runners with an opposable thumb. More than a few got away, though they have probably suffocated in their hot, leather hiding places by now. That is my hope, at least. I am still itchy with bites from that time Malo gave me the ants...

**Stay tuned for tonight's adventure: Malo and I go to the Prince concert.

Summer of Erin

According to the tarot card reader on the Venice boardwalk, my social cup will runneth over as long as I open my iron fist, let go of the past and remain open to beauty, art and love. Even though he never stopped picking his nose and talked entirely too much about himself, his roommate, his ex-girlfriend and did an uncomfortably long Rodney Dangerfield impression, he seemed to know a thing or two about reading a deck of cards. All he really told me was to take my own advice, which is pretty good advice... So begins the chronicles of the Summer of Erin.