23 June 2007


an original? .....sold? ...maybe?!?

18 June 2007

maternal instinct

Definite all-time low. &hearts

08 June 2007

Consider this PSA important if you like to communicate:

Many of you well know that I have recently lost my phone. Well, lost in the sense that I no longer have it with me, but not lost in that I know exactly where it is.

For reasons I cannot disclose, my cellular phone is now at the bottom of a mine shaft.

That's right. A mine shaft.

Actually, I will disclose that I was on a secret mission to thwart some evil master mind's plans, but that's as much as a can tell. Really. On with our story: Since I no longer have this communication device, I will, therefore, no longer be able to call any of you, text any of you, or set up secret dance parties and flash mobs with you. Any of you. UNLESS! (And yes, there is an unless:) ... you do the following things: 1) Send your telephone digits in an email or message to me, seeing as we don't want the creeps from eastern Europe who frequent my page (yes, there are many) to get a hold of your phone number and pester you as they so often do, or! 2) Schedule an appointment (via the internet, of course) to meet at a well-lit destination with plenty of witnesses around to exchange telephone numbers once I get a new phone, or! 3) Purchase a new phone for me, and have your contact info already programmed into it. 4) Come up with any other means by which you can communicate yours digits to me. Whether it be by mail, telegram, Morse Code, postcard, connect the dots, fax, tattoo, dinner and a movie, interpretive dance, or piece of artwork, I have no preference as to which you choose, although I'm fairly terrible at understanding certain the meanings of interpretive dances so I might write a "4" when in actuality you mean a "9".


Good luck in your endeavors, and have a lovely time enjoying your cellular phones. Be mindful of your surroundings, especially near mine shafts, cliffs, wells, tall buildings, large bodies of water, small bodies of water, electrical outlets, caverns, taverns, dinosaurs, emergency fire escapes, stampedes, and other dangerous places.

Bless you,


P.S. For those of you who feel the need to profess your undying love for me through voice mail and/or text messages (as you so often do) please refrain from doing so until I am able to receive your message. I'll be ever so embarrassed if we run into each other and you've recently asked me for my hand in marriage through either of these venues and I'm completely unaware.

P.P.S. For future reference, try to avoid asking me to marry you via text message. That's just all too pedestrian these days.

P.P.P.S. The Almighty Wikipedia has informed me that multiple postscripts are in poor taste, and that "they are considered very poor writing style." And for this, I apologize.

07 June 2007

rehabilitation, pt. 3

Gregory wasn't the last of his kind that I picked up. There were two more wounded comrades taken down by the inclement weather. I dried them off and put them in the tree on my porch, ready to brave the elements. They were tough little guys.

06 June 2007

rehabilitation, pt. 2

There was another dragonfly down on my way to the Museum of Art four hours later. It got special treatment via a tour of an exhibit, aid in drying, and multiple caretakers. His name was Gregory.


This morning, on my way to work, I found a dragonfly sitting at the edge of the lawn of Maeser Hill. The entomologist in me knew that this was not typical behavior for one of these creatures, especially after a big rainstorm, and the bleeding heart in me picked it up and started helping it dry off. By the end of the walk to my building, we had successfully gotten the majority of the water droplets off, straightened out the folds in its wings, and it began beating these wings to fan off the remaining moisture.