Friday, May 25, 2007

Fishlady is my friend.

Last night, at 9:30pm, I stood in Chipmonkey's doorway. I had just left work, walked away from a manager who was acting like a complete pile.

"I really need your partnership. I really need your partnership. I really need your partnership," he chanted. Chipper and mindless. He was berating a fellow employee. I stood for a moment, maybe waiting for him to rip into me. At that second, I realized I had the power not to be humiliated. So I turned around and walked out the door.

I drove and listened to Arcade Fire. A few of the songs skipped.

"Let's go on a bike ride," she said.

Chipmonkey knows that, like every wannabe wiener dog, a lady needs to be let out to play. And run around in circles until her head explodes.

"Let's go to Town Talk. I'll buy," she said.

"Okay," I said.

So we rode through Seward and my black cardigan flapped in the breeze.

We drank our adult shake and ate our garlic fries. And we talked and talked and talked and talked and talked.

We rode back and sat in her apartment discussing our summer theatre project. And, you know, life. I sat there taking notes to start my scene. I stopped and carved the words "wake from my dream" into my right wrist with my pen. It's faded but still on my wrist tonight.

I drove home in a daze. Overwhelmed by my summer theatre project and life.

I ran into my room, took off everything except my underwear and ran into my living room. By the light of the kitchen, I put side B of Wild Innocent & the E Street Shuffle onto the turn table.

I turned off the kitchen light and laid face down on one of my (many) Turkish rugs. This one was in my mom's study forever. It's not as rough and scratchy as all the one's we had upstairs.

In my underwear, I laid there in the darkness, listening to Incident on 57th Street. The sliding door that leads to nothing from our second floor apartment was open. I heard the cars pass on Central and the random holler that is prevelant on my street. My head was turned to the right and my skin melted with the humidity. I breathed in the salt as the record skipped towards the end of the song. In this version on this night, Spanish Johnny would get away unharmed. Maybe he's driving down Central right now.

It wasn't a Rosalita night so I put the needle down ahead and it perfectly landed on New York City Serenade. I laid back down and the thought crossed my mind "Alexa, you don't live alone. You have roommates and if they walked out into the living room right now, they would see you lying on a rug, almost naked. And you're listening to Bruce, so they probably think you're getting freaky with your bad self. But your not. Your lying her dead still." In the end, It didn't matter. It was one o'clock in the morning and I was so tired that my brain felt like it was bleeding out my beautiful eardrums.

So I listened to my song.

I thought about New York. When I heard that song played live at Shea Stadium in 2003. My mom and I sat in the loge section and Roy tapped into those opening piano chords. And the song swelled over the stadium. I saw the Manhattan skyline lit behind the stadium wall, behind Bruce. New York City Serenade, indeed. I thought about Minneapolis. Fishlady lives here, too. The characters in his story are my neighbors and that makes me less alone. My favorite line played out the crackling spearks, "So walk tall or baby don't walk at all." I thought about the way my shoulder smelled. I thought about all the rumors of an E Street band tour beginning in the fall. What could I do, what can I sacrifice, what could I sell, where could I work to afford those shows? I'll make it happen. I always do. "Shake away the city lights. Shake away those street lights." Those street lights spilled into my living room and I danced while lying still.

The record ended.

I wrote my script. I stared at Hopper paintings. I fell asleep late into the night. I woke up and it was pouring rain. My head was pounding and I was lying sideways in my bed, my ragged kitty blanket wrapped tightly around me. I hadn't slept well. I finally got up and trudged to work, my curls messily pressed against my head in my blue faux vintage headband. I ended up taking a half personal day to come home and sleep because if I didn't, I would either have another seizure or start crying. I had two more rehearsals today that I needed energy for and I'm quitting my job soon anyway.

It's just one of those weeks. Besides, I needed to sleep. I had been up all night serenading.

Monday, May 21, 2007

Dear Sweet God


I'm sitting here in my apartment, all the lights are off and the screen door is open. I'm on my favorite mini couch, the one my body fits perfectly into and my legs dangle over the edge. Carmine, the 4 foot tall porcelain greyhound, has been moved to the other side of the living room. I no longer see his regal face peeking over the edge of the couch's arm. That makes me a little sad. I have spent the afternoon at Andrea & Mark's, listening to Led and watching Eddie Izzard. I'm still definitely a little fucked up. But I'm home now because I have a very limited time to get work done for the fringe show. I HAVE TO GET WORK DONE! It's my responsibility to create a very detailed frame for the sketch about forced exercise and body image.

So I youtube aerobic to try to set some movement for the piece and...

After weeding through all the blessed gospel dance aerobics, I find this:

What the fuck?!? Did the Milio's delivery guy slip acid into my turkey and guacomole sub?

And then...


I disover THIS awe inspiring gem:

I'd have to stick squirrels down my underwear to make my cheeks move like that.

Get it right, get it tight, indeed.

Back in Ye Olde Saddle



It's beautiful. Fast. With so much hard drive space. And speed. And a pipe bomb instilled within it in case anyone tries to steal it from me (again.)

Plus a free, originally $80, fairly good Canon printer came with that doubles as a PHOTO PRINTER!

Most importantly, I can now "read" literotica in the privacy of my own room.

Honest most importantly, I can get back to my photos. I can start over.

My first set of new photos!!!

From Little Lambies going away get together last Sunday...


Genna/Jeeehna the Baker

Laura/Chipmunk/MonkeyChip the Choreographer

Anna/Little Lambie the Actress

And just cause I stared at this fruit for way too long, thinking pervy Jonesie thoughts. We tried to figure out what it was. Finally, I just settled on my original idea: green fuzzy goat nads.

Oh...and I went to a music expo with Andrea & Jen today. Jonesie spent every last dime of her birthday money on records and one dollar of Jen's (to be paid back, naturally...IN A LOVE BUCK...kiddin' Jen!) But now I can add to my collection of almost every single Bruce LP, the Annie soundtrack & one Southside Johnny album WITH...

ELO's Face the Music
U2's The Joshua Tree
Elvis Presley's The Complete Sun Sessions
Elvis Presley's As Recorded at Madison Square Garden
Elvis Presley's The Elvis Medley
Hank Williams Sr. & Jr.'s Father & Son
Johnny Cash's Orange Blossom Special
Hymns by Johnny Cash
Steel Band Music of the Carribbean
Bob Marley & The Wailer's Uprising
The Music of Africa
Creedence Clearwater Revival's Chronicle
The Best of the Byrds Volume II


Pat Benatar's Live from Earth "featuring the NEW HIT SINGLE Love is a Battlefield"

I don't care if anyone of these are shit albums, they were reeeeeally cheap.

Next purchases shall be Buddy Holly, Dylan, more Bruce to someday soon round out that collection, and some more randoms.

And now Jonesie can fall asleep to the sweet sweet sounds of Band 15. Algeria AND Can't Help Falling in Love.

Man...the new found record obsession is RULING!

Just like the fact that I have tomorrow off, am turning off my phone so I can sleep way in, have actual breakfast cereal for the morning (as opposed to eating the heel of the frozen, month old bread out of desperation) & will be bringing my lovely record player home.

Goals for tomorrow:
Update resume so I can finally leave The Department Store
Get renter's insurance
Sell crack on the corner to pay for gas
Stare peacefully off into space while walking in the fresh air
Dance rehearsal at Zenon

Oh yeah...I was reminded today by a friend that at one point during my birthday celebration on Friday, I was found wandering alone down the block in front of Whitey's Saloon all by myself. This was probably 1:30 in the morning when everyone was either gone or at The Front. I apparantely was in my own little world, dancing around on the sidewalk and looking happy as can be.

Sunday, May 20, 2007

Best Birthday Ever

It wasn't a rocking Marah concert like last year but...

My neck is killing me.
I have bruises on the back of my knees.
My whole body smells like chlorine.

It was a fucking PARTY!

I didn't sob.
I choked up over hoot love, lilacs, lullabyes and my radical/tubular/ridiculous/awesomeawesomeawesomeawesome friends.

I do believe I screamed "I just feel so fucking blessed" about twenty six times last night. At one point, I very drunkenly stood from my seat on the ground in the middle of a circle of my people chatting outside The Front and proclaimed, "I am LUCKY!"

As I was wandering from the thai dinner, as I was wandering from the hoot, as I was wandering from Whitey's, as I was stumbling from The Front, as I was sitting on the curb at 2:30am with the remaing party folks, as I was rambling and dancing and drinking...

Seriously, I must have done something really right to have these people in my life. Cause you know, I'm blessed and lucky.

I am surrounded by people who get it. And get me. And that makes me really happy.

And there were messages. So many messages from all my other friends that couldn't celebrate my birthday with me. And that means so much, too.

I was a responsible drinker who rode that fine line successfully. I was on the perfect edge of insanity and woke up, extremely sore from Jonesie's mad dancing SKILLZ (mad = erratic), with just a mild hangover and a bit of anxiety over the arrival of The Jones Family. Anxiety that was cooled as soon as I realized that my mom and sister and I were laughing hysterically in the hotel pool tonight. My sister and I were floating in my mom's arms, pretending to get baptized. As friends dangled their feet in the water, occasionally jumping in...the cold, the hot, the steam. My friend Genna, who had a shitty cold, baked me a cake from scratch that was decorated like a record. Which compliments the record player and records SO WELL! And I have more wiener dog paraphernalia...which takes the number of wiener items I own up to approximately 65! My father watched bad tv on the hotel bed until we all came up, continuing the small party by chatting about politics and butchering lambs. A few of my people met The Jones Family tonight. And now they REALLY understand why I am the way I am.

My Family


Thank you!

Sunday, May 13, 2007

So walk tall or baby don't walk at all

On Thursday, April 26th, I stood in The Varsity with my camera. It was Stook! and Chris Koza opening for JoAnna James. I took over five hundred pictures that night.

I danced around, twisted around, bent on my knees to try to get the shot I wanted. Capture Stook!'s infectious joy, Koza's understated sense of cool that melts away at moments. Katie, an old work friend, sat behind me as I ran around. She clutched onto her seat. Steve and Jim stood beside me at different points in the show. It was a wonderful night of music all around and it ended with JoAnna soulful pipes reeling with angst and pain and beauty and joy. At one point, Jim was cheering for JoAnna and I look up at him and say "this night is magic." He grabs my shoulders and kisses my head. I take more pictures. Martin walks by, a musician, head of her record label Eclectone Records, and he is choked up. Tears are welling up in his eye.

"I'm so proud of our girl," he says to Jim, "now I have to sing."

The show ended and I said goodbye. In a daze, I stood at the back of the Varsity for a moment. I didn't want to leave. I didn't want it to end. One of my favorite parts about traveling for Bruce Springsteen shows and staying in hotels near the arena is that the 3.5 hour party that happened on stage most certainly continues in the lobby, in the bar, in the rooms of the hotel. One night, in Chicago for Devils & Dust, someone was banging away on the piano and everyone, 20, 30, 40, 50 some odd people, were singing along to Thunder Road.

I wanted the party to somehow continue. But then I was overwhelmed with this sensation of needing to run outside, be outside away from everyone. I walked through the doors, mofoed Stook! and walked on to the parking lot.

Tears welled up in my eyes. I got closer to Brucie the Honda. And they started to pour. I opened my car doors and sat inside and I wept. Pulling away in a cloud with tears streaming down my face, listening to JoAnna's "Back of my Mind" EP, driving around the block that surrounds The Varsity because I couldn't leave it just yet. So happy, sort of distraught, cathartic. At that moment, I was entirely sure I had made the right decision to stay in Minneapolis and not move to New York. For now. For awhile. For I don't know how long any more. This is right. I called Laura and talked to her about art. This is my home, a place that inspires me, challenges me and brings out my current best. I knew that wholly as Back of my Mind
blared from my player.

This past Tuesday, my computer was stolen. Several people told me they understood my pain cause, you know, if there were a fire in your house, you would grab your photo albums first. My house, my art, burnt on the inside. The frame is what is left.

On Thursday, I bent behind the counter at work and started to cry for the zillionth time this week. I was overwhelmed again for the zillionth time this week. My finances were really fucked up. The Department Store hadn't paid me for Indiana vacation time I had requested, my rent check was going to bounce and I didn't know how to take care of that. But I did. I fixed it. And it knocked me down again in trying to fix it. But I had just talked to my mom and she had given me some extraordinary news. Without my asking, for my birthday, my mom and dad were going to buy me a new Mac laptop. I am not too proud right now to accept this gift that I can currently in no way pay for myself. They are just public school teachers. But they have given me a gift that I will use everyday, not just because internet is my crack but because that is the home to my pictures.

And I know sometimes I don't know how to ask for help when I need it, from my family and friends. I've lived so much of my life working towards a sense of ecstatic self, a sense of independence. I know how to take care of myself, to live by myself, to completely immerse myself in this life. My life. To use an overused cliche, I pride myself on being able to stand on my own two feet. But sometimes I can't stand up. I can't walk. I fall. And so many people are there to help me, to hold my hand, to talk to me, to let me ramble about Bruce Springsteen or tell my ridiculous stories, to accept me.

The people in my life have supported me endlessly this week. After my computer jacking and last post, I woke up to several texts, myspace comments and messages, voice mails. They've continued this entire week. I was offered a hand hold, an ear, a shoulder, constant condolences, old computers, a new computer, hard drive space to download my photos, Adobe, a bouquet of lilacs, a loan, pictures from Spain that my family had taken, burnt CDs of pictures I had taken that I had given to others. Even a freaking employee at the Apple Store that I chat with on an almost daily basis gave me a dorky but incredibly endearing hug when I told him why I was trying to figure out how to download my songs from my ipod back to a new computer. Not one person judged me for reacting so strongly. Everyone understood. I was seriously overwhelmed by how awesome so many people acted towards me. I know the best people in the world!

On Friday, I danced at Zenon, then drank with some friends at the 331 Club as JoAnna James played again. I talked to her for the first time. She hugged me. She loved my photos of her show, she had said in her myspace message, and wanted to buy me a drink. She said that they made her choke up because they reminded her of how great that night was at The Varsity on that Thursday night, how special it was to her. She had forwarded them onto her family and friends. Her mom told me how happy they made her, how often she has looked at them. And I'm just glad to be able to give something back to an artist, artists, who have given me so much. As friends, part of my Minneapolis family, people I dance with, cry to and laugh around.

Stook!'s record is called A Soundtrack to my Minneapolis.

This afternoon, I pulled up to work and there were enormous black clouds billowing around the lot of the employee first thought was...HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLY SHIT...THE DEPARTMENT STORE IS BURNING TO THE GROUND...MY WISH HAS COME TRUE!!!!!

Alas, it is in tact, but it was like a holiday with all the drama circulating. A car had actually exploded, blowing out the windows and hood of not only the fire ball itself but a few cars around it. Luckily, no one was hurt. As much as I (the anti-confrontational girl from a funny farm in Missouri) want to punch about a dozen people that work there, I don't really want them to burn to the cement ground.

Anyway, on Monday, my Anna/Little Lamb leaves for the summer. So it was her goodbye party tonight. I peeled away from The Department Store in a cloud of smoke and arrived at the house. I saw Anna in one window and Genna in another window. They live in the same building down in Seward. I spend more time in that house than I do in my own.

I stood outside and yelled Litttttttttttle LAAAAAAAAAAAAMBIE! Genna tells me she sees me. Then, Anna peeks her head and tells me to wait. I stood there, first in the grass then in Genna's living room, enjoying a smoke (of what...Mom...if you are reading enjoying a know I don't mean cigs...cause I'll never ever smoke one of those enjoying a smoke, I mean reading passages from Wuthering Heights.) Genna told me they were finishing the surprise. Genna peeks her head out and whispers something across to the other apartment. They're ready.

I walk to Laura's door. Anna has been staying there too as she had no place to stay for a month before her summer in southern Minnesota doing Shakespeare (Willy Willy Boom utterly pointless statement to write but I keep saying over and over again in my head because it's FUN!) I heard Thunder Road playing and I, of course, loved that and got really excited. The door opened, I saw people, mine and Anna's friends, sitting or standing all around.

Anna points down, "Happy Birthday, Jonesie!"

I see the Born to Run record spinning on the turn-table.

"Awwww...I love Born to Run...I could definitely use another copy of this album...because the only one I have is framed on my wall right now. Wait, I think I actually have another under my desk. But that's still a cute gift!" I thought.

"Yeah. I love Born to Run!" I said.

"It's all yours, Jonesie!" Anna said.

My stomach dropped.

"The record player?" I muttered.

"YEAH!" she said.

"HOOOOOOOLY SHIT! IT'S MINE!??!?! THIS IS AWESOME!!!! MY HEART IS BEATING IN MY THROAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ALGLHJSJGLH:A:kgh:jheouwlkj:lak:ly:tuoeowpyaajAKDJHLFSKAJDFHLKJSA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I screamed.

Everyone was smiling and I almost started to cry. Seriously. Y'know...for the zillionth time this week.

I haven't had a record player since I was a little girl. My sister and I used to spend the weekends reenacting the Annie musical, lip syncing and dancing with full costume and props. I was always little orphan Annie, naturally. But I'm convinced it's because really my sister just loved to play the drunk Miss Hannigan. Naturally. And this was all to the Annie record my mom had. And, by the way, god bless my parents for sitting through a bazillion cheap karaoke productions of Annie.

I don't know why I never bought a turn table. It just hadn't happened. UNTIL NOOOOOOOOOOOOW!!!!


The only records I own are almost all of Bruce Springsteen's albums (including one Dancing in the Dark single where he's completely gaying it up on the cover in this amazing dance pose,) one Southside Johnny album & that Annie album from my childhood. I completely regret giving all my parents old records to this deejay I had dated because I thought I would never actually use them. DJ, can I have them back, please?

Sidenote: not a picture of the deejay...but I like that he's looking at me in this shot...cause the deejay definitely looked at me with this sorta creepy, sorta intense stare. Reason number zillion the thing with the deejay ended.

A few of my friends pooled their hard earned cafe cash, planned and searched and investigated for a long time, and bought me this totally kick ass turn table. This is by far one of the greatest presents I have ever received!!!!!!!!!

So this hell week has such a brilliant ending. Because shit goes down and, as trite as it sounds, I have constantly been overcome in the past five days by the support I have received. Because of everything. When my mom called me to tell me about the birthday gift they would be giving me, she also told me my grandpa, who is 87 years old and not in the best of health, wants to send me a little check to help me out after my loss. And that set me off again. Mom then told me she loved me, she knew this work, what I spend time seeing and doing, is important to me. And thus important to her. I have seen over and over again, in every possible way, how amazing the people in my life are. So thank you everyone!

And the fact that another of my pictures made The Photo of the Week at has made me continuously happy throughout this flipped out week. This discovery was last Monday. It is a picture of JoAnna James. From that show I left in those good tears.


It was from the last set I was able to download and upload before everything was stolen. It is a set I am extraordinarily proud of. It's the set that has accompanied this ramble. On a different note, it's strange but I'm really afraid of falling out of love with photography, maybe getting burnt out and not caring about it like I do right now. I go to shows. I see the picture in front of me. Will that change? Will I lose interest in this like I did with theatre? God I hope not. It's hard for me because I feel like I have to take a first picture all over again. And once I do that, then it really will be real that they are pretty much all gone. But I'm going to because seeing those shots this week and not taking the photo was worse. Because, like I said, I love being able to give back to the people that hold me up.

Wow, cheesy. But true. CHEESY BUT TRUE! Just like Jonesie...MWAHAHA!

Anyway...a special THANK YOU to Anna, Laura, Genna, George, Kevin & Ben...the friends behind the turn table!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I need this. The music is everywhere for me. And now it will have the beautiful, hollow, crackling sound accompanying it.

I'm so good right now. Tired because I stayed up until seven in the morning to write and look at all the photos I have on flickr. I'm so ready to spend my grandpa's gift on some coffee and new records! I'm so ready to take my first new photo!


Wednesday, May 9, 2007

I have been robbed.

Tonight I had parked my car in Cedar Riverside to go hang out with friends at the Nomad. An hour and a half later, I walked back to the lot. It was 12:30am.

Brucie the Honda was broken into. And they stole my laptop.

I have not ever backed up my computer (but, ironically, was going to when I got the external hard drive for my birthday in a week and a half.)

I have lost every picture I have ever taken with either of my digital cameras(that are not online...about 1600 out of 15000 are online) or everything I have ever written in highschool, college & since (that, again, are not online...papers, essays, much is gone.) Luckily, most of the written documents actually have been printed off.

All my Spain pictures from last summer are gone. Pictures of my family and friends and concerts and holidays from the past few years are gone.

Anyway, this is bad and I feel really sick about this.

Tonight, I blamed myself for this robbery, for not burning the pictures onto CDs like I said I would, and probably will continue blaming myself for awhile even though I know this is not my fault. I know all the things I shouldn't have done...and being lectured by the cop didn't help that...I'm not naive or stupid and I won't beat myself up about it. Anything anyone could say to me to try to teach me some lesson is only a fraction of the beating I have mentally given myself.

But I would like to thank the people that were with me when I walked to my car tonight and helped me calm down. Drove me to their apartments when I was supposed to drop them off. Offered to hold my snot filled hand. And they quoted song lyrics to me that made me feel better (something about burning all your belongings twice becausue you are restarting your life, once because you want to and once because you have to.) They helped me to realize that I can rebuild this...this can be a new beginning for me.

Anway, back up everything on your computer that is important to you. And be really careful about what you leave in your car.

And yes I did file a police report with the serial number of the computer. And I called my credit card and bank account because statements were in that bag.

My faith in people is pretty low right now. But it was just stuff, I know that, and I am okay. My friends are okay. My car is okay (though it is not even worth as much as my computer.) I have my camera still (I had to remind myself over and over again that it wasn't in that bag with my computer) and like my mom said when I called her sobbing at 2am, they did not take my own memories and my future.

Anyway...I will not be online as much because I don't have a computer any more (which will be remedied in due time.) I'm typing on my roommate Jim's computer right now. Usually his neverending boy stories drive me insane but, tonight, his ramblings are comforting. Life really does go on. I was in a really good mood this past week because I feel like I am at a huge transition. That is not going away.

Major Springsteen and wiener dog happy thoughts need to be sent my way.

Though my first impulse was to drive all the way back to Missouri tonight, I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. This all may sound extreme but that's me. Especially right now. And no one took my all crazy like, dramatic talk away from me.

See you all when I see you,

Saturday, May 5, 2007

My mind is blown.

I'm in Indiana right now with some ladies from ye olde collegiate days. Madzie and I left Minneapolis to visit the hottest Russian import since bottom shelf vodka (Ekaterina Terebova is her name...BEAT THAT BITCHES demands one Mary Jones.) Madzie drove the entire way through Chicago rush hour while I chose mix CDs, ate jelly beans and fiber 1 granola bars (shitty idea) and napped, sporatically reading US Weekly out loud.

We arrived safely to West Lafayette, ate some kickass homemade tomato soup, watched the blessed Burlesque video from last October and reinacted this scene from last year...

I call her Belarussy (I have a really good friend from Minsk who is fluent in four languages...who can say that?!!?)

While reinacting the above picture with her future husband, we discovered the most hilarious and blasphemous activity to partake in. Listen to the song that will be YOUR song, that first song at your wedding reception that you and your husband will dance to, while Busty Cops 2 is muted on the big flat screen behind you (we didn't PLAN to watch this by the way, we were flipping cable stations hoping to come upon something holy and pure.) This will result in gut busting laughter from all parties involved. I mean...Van Morrison already kicks major ass...JUST IMAGINE "Exactly Like You" wailing along as the sentimental soundtrack to massive, rock hard boobies and the men/women/talking llamas who love them (in the grass, in their hand, in the barn, in a spaceship, in their mouth.)

To recap...

Your wedding song + Busty Cops 2 = AMAZING!


Speaking of...I love these ladies...

(again from last year...there will be plenty of 2007 photo ops tomorrow when we bask in the beauty and energy of West Lafayette.)

I may mock Indiana endlessy, but, in reality, I will never cease to be amazed by its brilliance.

I've figured out the answer to The Bottle Rockets burning question: Is it hell or Indianapolis?

I'll see you in hell, baby.

Wednesday, May 2, 2007

A Tale of Monkey Lust

He was there in front of me, this shining beacon.

I loved him, this 80's monkey. Our love was pure and whole.

But then one day he broke the news.

He had eyes for another. He, this monkey, could conceal it no longer.

And that other had passionate desires. She, this former dear friend of fifteen years, could not contain herself.

Thus he broke my heart. The beating bloody bulb shattered into the stratosphere.

But monkey love is fleeting. The call of the wild is covered in acrylic fur.

And he would soon sweep another of her feet.*

Their lips grazed. Both were overcome with a severe case of jungle fever.

And they proceeded with caution. A caution that melted into burning passion.

Very soon, she peeled his ripe banana; he sipped the sweet milk of her coconuts.

Their passion, undeniable.

Their mating call, righteous.





*Yes, this was originally my idea. But sweet little homemaker Morgie TOTALLY went with it.

In the end, we were both equally to blame for this awesome perversion. To quote Morgan: "This must sorta be what porn directors feel like." Sage words.

Sigh...I miss her already.

Come back to visit soon, Morgie, and maybe next time there will be wee little monkeys roaming Central Ave in this jungle called Minneapolis.