I'd Set Up a Swingset...But I have an Art Gallery...

When I was 21, my boyfriend left me in Omaha.
After a three-day Greyhound odyssey, I was back in Virginia with a fractured heart and surprisingly fond memories of cobblestone streets and horse-drawn carriages...

The cobblestone streets and horse-drawn carriages are now my front yard...

While wandering around the yard this morning...

I found this painting:















































Local artist to check out:
Jenna Morrison

Her stuff is on display at Sirens at The Loft...

See it, Buy it, Hang it, Love all over it...

Until about 4 minutes ago...This song was lame...

Travis Barker has reached a new level of sexy...

Hairdressers, Priests, and Bartenders...Oh My...

My yellow brick road ends in the communion of split ends and deep conditioner. Bar stools and confessional benches do not compare in luxury or psychiatric benefit to the hydraulic bliss of a salon chair...

After logging 10-ish hours at the hands of a follicular genius...



Discussing everyone from Oscar Wilde to Paris Hilton...



Asking the all-important, ego-stroking, questions:

"Why does everyone suck except for us?"

&

"What's wrong with living in a world comprised of unicorns and Luis Vuitton?"

Musing about how happy/lucky/blessed we are for finding careers that have, by choice, become our bliss/purpose/priority...



Paul has become my new leading man:


















As far as patterns go, wearing my heart-on-my-sleeve for my hair stylist is far better than pattern balding...

Plus...

No one is drunk or going to Hell...

R.I.P.

After 7 glorious months of cohabitation, my orchid is dead...

My orchid had kicked the bucket...

The orchid has croaked...

If I had daisies, my orchid would be pushing them up...

It's a clear case of homicide...(I'd say it was Planticide, but Robert Plant may have the copyright reserved.)

The suspect is an orange male...Fluffy...Last seen wearing a tan sweater:

Yes my friends...

Earnest has been redecorating.

This is all that's left of my former child, (My Or-Kid.)