This meme reminds me of the first time I attempted to go up in the St. Louis Gateway Arch - with my 00+ gauge Prince Albert piercing in! My piercing is the same as the pic in this picture, but the gauge that I wear- (thickness of the metal) - is 1 size bigger, and weighs a half a pound.
I don't wear it often, and like any piece of jewelry, after it's in (on) for a second or two, the wearer forgets that it's in place (like putting a watch on your wrist. After a few seconds, you don't feel it in place anymore.) 
Anywho, I went to the Arch. I forgot that it's a 'federal building', and you must go through the metal detector and security check points before even entering the gift shop.
(A double whammy is that I was a wholesale florist for 6 years, and Mark has been a wholesale florist for almost 20 years. All florists - especially wholesale florists - carry a floral pocket knife with them at all times. Most of these knives have a hooked blade. They're about 4.5" in length. Now, when I go to City Hall or any other federal building, I make sure all body jewelry is out and any floral pocket knives stay in my truck. I automatically take off my not 'n' bolt choker and put it in the basket that goes through the x-ray machine.)
So... I forget that I'm wearing a half pound chunk of metal through my yahoo.
I go through the metal detector, and the alarm goes off.
They rather forcefully pull me aside and run the wand up and down my body. when it is level with my crotch, the thing lights up and the alarm goes off again.
When my Ex worked at the airport, I would go down the same concourse to pick him up. After checking me through a couple times, the next time I set the alarm off, I would tell the agents (that knew me well), "I have my PA in." and I would point to my crotch. They smiled and motioned me through without further attention to the matter.
Silly me! When THIS particular agent ran the wand down my body, and I told him, "I have a half pound, 00 gauge Prince Albert in.", and I pointed to my crotch, he said, "Nope! I have to see it!" Right down to the tape, itself, this gaurd looked exactly like the nerdy cop in the 1980's movies that had his glasses taped in the middle.
When he firmly stated, "Nope! I have to see it!" I looked at my Ex and smiled. He rolled his eyes and put his head back as if to indicate to me, "Oh, no! Here we go again!"
I looked at the (male) cop, and self-assuredly said, "OK, Sista! Perhaps this IS Burger King, and you CAN have it your way!"
He took me by the arm and lead me to a small utility room that was off to the side of probably 200 people waiting to go to the top of the Arch. They witnessed the entire fiasco.
We walked into the utility room, and he shut the door.
Without so much as looking down, I took my stuff out of my pants - using only the metal ring as a handle. Again - without changing expressions and without looking down, I started twirling my junk as if I was turning a jump rope!
If I'm lyin', I'm dyin' - send my soul straight to Hell!
Without looking where he was going (because his huge eyeballs were fixated on the action down below!), this nerdy guard moved back as far away from me as he could, and his arms were stuck out to his sides, and he was clawing the concrete walls of that small utility room. He was making the most ghastly, "I'm scared shitless!" sounds that he could get out of his wide open mouth! If he could have climbed that wall backwards, he would have been stuck on the ceiling in 2 seconds flat!
While his back was still plastered against the wall, I put my junk back in my pants, zipped myself up, and then I walked over to this trembling man. I slammed my hand against the wall with my hand landing an inch from his head. I leaned over to his face until we were almost Eskimo kissing and I hissed, "Now, nerd boy! When you take your scrawny ass home, how are you going to explain your shit stained underwear to your WIFE!???"
(His back was still against the wall!)
I turned, walked out the door, and I slammed it behind me. In the huge concrete cavern that is beneath the arch, the door slamming sounded like a cannon going off.
The guard didn't follow me out of the room.
In fact, I never, ever saw him again!
I just walked myself THROUGH the security check point, and, while smiling hugely, I did the "elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist, touch your pearls, blow a kiss" maneuver to the other guards as I walked through the checkpoint and on to my Ex, who was already waiting in one of the trams to go to the top of the Arch.
- Michael
Honest Injun.... (Sorry, I was born in Hannibal, MO - all those Mark Twain references, ya know! )
For several reasons, I don't have a single unfinished knitting project in my house, but I do have 4 of the largest Rubbermaid storage tubes (on wheels) that are full of my yarn stash.
One of the reasons is that I believe, in Martha Stewart-fashion, "If I spent money on it, I'm going to use it!"
Reason #2 is that I went to an estate sale 2 years ago. It was a 2 story home, and 5 of the 6 rooms that were on the second floor of this house were dedicated to the now-deceased home owner.
If I'm lyin', I'm dyin' - send my soul straight to Hell!
I did look into this woman's closets (in an estate sale, EVERYTHING is for sale, including everything in drawers, cabinets, closets, etc.
I noticed in her closet(s) that there were, indeed, several finished knitted items, including some spectacular sweaters.
HOWEVER.... 5 of the 6 rooms on this floor were filled with large display-type tables that were each loaded with hundreds of Ziploc baggies, laying on the table fallen domino-style for the sake of cramming as many baggies on each table as possible. Each of these baggies had all the yarn needed to complete a particular project. The instructions (magazine clippings, etc), needles and even a knitted swatch were in every bag with the correct yarn for the project. In *most* of the baggies, this woman had a large portion of an arm of a sweater completed, for example, and nothing more finished on the project.
Even though I couldn't take all the yarn with me (but I wanted to!), I did manage to buy several hundred dollars worth of fine, expensive yarns that are now out of production - for $35 for the entire lot that I bought. The stuff that I bought didn't put even the tiniest dent in the overall size of this woman's stash - and unfinished garments!
I just know in my heart - 2 sizes too small! - that that poor woman's husband wanted desperately to shoot her in the head, if for no better reason to put her out of both their miseries!
I'm glad that she didn't finish 1% of the projects that she started - because I reaped the benefits, but that woman must have been suffering from some type of internal turmoil! he he
- Michael
Since school is still obviously in session, I will break it down for you the same way I broke it down for them:
Is the following statement an OPINION / FREEDOM OF SPEECH, or is it "HATE AND BIGOTRY"?
"Them there darkies should be still working in the fields!"
OK. My bad. Technically, that was a trick question, because it is *both*, an opinion and freedom of speech AND it is still hate and bigotry.
The sinister part of supporting Phil Robertson's (and Chic-Fil-A's..... and Cracker Barrel's.... and Salvation Army's) statements as "Freedom of Speech" and an "Opinion" is that they are hiding behind those rights to inflict hate and bigotry. It's plain and simple.
If we're matching each other right-for-right, I have to say this:
"Yes, they have the right to say whatever the Hell they want to say, and I have the right to punch them in the teeth for effecting many important aspects of my life, including insurance and other huge financial areas of my life."
Go, A&E! Making people responsible for their actions, despite the lies and bull crap (cat boxing?) that they try to spew? -
"It's a GOOD THING!"
That man is now treading water like the Titanic swim team!
Some people will be confused as to how Phil Robert's actions - which are NOT illegal - will effect my rights and my $$ - which is VERY legal.
It's really very simple:
His bigoted statements can and will effect the minds of those who were, unfortunately, given the right and the authority to vote for MY rights.
Very easy math: People are persuaded to believe that gay people are, in generally, "bad" = we don't get their vote, which we need, to protect unions, relationships and financial security that we have had - in many cases - longer than the straight people that are allowed to vote for our rights!
- Michael
(Hold on tight....there really is a point to this saga...)
Given that today's weather won't let me out of the house, I'll trim close to 2" off this beard today. The increasing length is making my beard difficult to style, and it's getting a bit out of control.
Some folk that aren't in the beard 'inner circles' will think "Taking 2 inches off that beard shouldn't make that much of a difference!", when the reality of the situation is that when this beard is combed straight down, even the most casual observer will note a huge difference. Hold on.... The moral of this Aesop's fable approacheth:
After the snow plows have freed me from my snowy prison, and before I leave my home again, I will style my beard in it's recognizable "up-do" form. With a 100% assurance, I can guarantee you that not even the most eagle-eyed onlooker would notice that a single hair had been trimmed on my face.
The same can be said for my 1 acre in Ladue. My significant-other can leave for work in the morning, and while he is out, I can trim the trees and plants on our property. When trimming and editing is necessary, I can take some CAREFULLY SELECTED 'chunks' out of his most prized Magnolia (as just one example) that is located immediately adjacent to the space that he parks his car.
Just between you and me - and in all confidence, can I just tell you that when he parks his car that evening, and walks into the house, I won't hear a peep about his prized Magnolia being molested.
We have lived in this house 4 years. Every season, I have to prune / trim most 'green stuff' on our property to keep it in-check. To date, and as of this writing, he hasn't noticed a single snip.
Why, you ask, "Hasn't he noticed or said anything about your pruning?"
The answer is quite easy and very natural to me, and I wish I could say the same for those that are hacking the Hell out of the plantings at The Missouri Botanical Gardens.
The answer:
GOOD. JUDICIOUS. EDITING ! ! ! !
Remember:
My beard really NEEDED trimming, and yet people that see me on a daily basis will never know that a single hair has been touched.
I guess we can't say the same for that wonderful stand of Bottlebrush Buckeye (Aesculus parviflora) that is located across from the Climatron.
Please note the wonderfully sheltering feeling that one would get as that passed through these beautiful white spires. Also notice the fantastic symmetry of this space.
Don't jack with me. I know.... I know.... Bottle brush grows quickly. You do know, of course, that there is such a thing as JUDICIOUS EDITING that will accomplish both goals of getting this beautiful plant to grow back, and once again be 'bushy' instead of taller and 'leggy' AND simultaneously maintaining the form and shape that Garden visitors find endearing.
So much for endearing, timelessness and stability, eh?
(The 'grassy' knoll where the 4 faced-Buddha sculpture / lantern stood that has been seasonally planted with tulips..... burgundy elephant ears.... SOMETHING.... is a different story, altogether, and a different book for another day. A couple words to the wise about wasted space and wasted opportunities:
1) Not many people ever died saying, "God, I wish I could see more grass!"
(Please remember - we can get all the grass that our little hearts desire, absolutely free of charge, and in a relatively un-molested state in Tower Grove Park - located right across the street!)
2) I know that most of my readers probably won't see the situation in this light, but I have many very good examples of what sensory deprivation does to unsuspecting victims, and 99.99% of the time, these changes occur slowly, and without the individual's knowledge. (But the changes are immediately noticeable to those that are aware of this danger.)
3) In a all-around point of view, WASTE is a 'bad thing', and should be avoided at all costs.
_____________________________________________________________
Even as we speak', that is going to become glaringly apparent to the folk at the Missouri Botanical Gardens when I blast them for their latest round of mindless hacking that they have done to iconic and beloved areas of the Gardens.
((:::Almost finished with a blog entry that I am preparing to zing in their direction:::)
As a result of my efforts to maintain detail and to preserve the detail that you might some day enjoy (before it's gone by the way of laziness, watering down, and selling out, etc!), I am well known for being outspoken to these people.
Thusly, I am definitely no stranger to the Vice-President of the Missouri Botanical (Mr. Andrew Wyatt), and I have taken a 'buggy ride' with him in one of their golf carts, doing a one-on-one survey and comparison of 'changes' at the Gardens.
When we finished with our hour and a half 'meeting', I got out of the golf cart, and assumed a shocked look on my face, and quickly looked down at the back of my right calf. My head shot back up as I looked him dead in the eye, and I exclaimed, "Oh, what is that warm, wet sensation that I feel running down the back of my leg?" A confused look shot across his face as I continued, "Oh, now I know what it is! To quote one of my mentors, Judge Judy, 'Don't piss down my leg and tell me it's raining!"
Those people TRULY think I'm crazy, but the only difference between me and them is that I never, ever saw "The Emperor's New Clothes" - and I hop I never will.
(Moral #1 of this Aesop's fable:
If a tree - just as one SMALL example - is still there when you visit MoBot, THANK ME for fighting for it.
Moral #2 of this Aesop's fable:
Git yer buns to The Missouri Botanical Gardens before these sell-out, increasingly lazy, hazy people turn it into nothing more than a glorified walk through an average city park, which, incidentally, we can get free and unmolested right across the street. The threat is very real and at the rate they are going, this outcome is inevitable.
(The small, 10-minute effort that I went through to write this 'book' will not be in vain. I'm using all of it in the blog I'm sending them.
This morning, Mr. Ass-Bird is up to his same ole tricks again.
Yesterday, I make from-scratch cooked chocolate pudding. I have 4 egg whites left over after I used the yolks for the pudding.
Conrad's breakfast ALWAYS starts with scrambled eggs - every morning. I cook one egg for him every couple days, and keep it in the refrigerator, giving him a little each morning until it's gone. The rest of his daily diet is varied, but eggs has always been - and will always be - the center of his diet.
I absolutely hate waste - and most people who do it, so I cooked the egg whites in the microwave for Conrad's breakfasts for the next few days. Four egg whites should get him several meals.
The little shit tastes the egg whites, and he refuses to eat them. (After all, they are WHITE and not YELLOW, and he doesn't taste any yolk in the eggs. So, he's naturally going to refuse to eat the whites.)
This morning, without ceremony, I give him the egg whites in his bowl, and I walk away from his cage. His begging and pleading for breakfast continues. After tasting the egg whites, he not only can tell that they look different, but that they taste different, too. He refuses to eat the egg whites.
I know... I know... I can mix the cooked egg whites with Rudolph's (pug) food, and he would love it, and I could cook another whole egg for Conrad.
Oh, no, Hunties. I won't be taken down like that.
I calmly walk over to Conrad's cage, and I remove the offending food bowl from his cage. I search my pantry in vain for yellow food coloring.
African Greys can tell the difference between many shades of color. Birds have the best vision of any animal, including humans, on the planet. Luckily, contrary to popular belief, most birds have very poor senses of smell. They are very sight-based animals. (You never see a bird sniffing each other's butt, and again, contrary to popular belief, if you see a true, obviously undeveloped, unfledged baby bird that has been knocked out of his nest by a storm, you can pick him up and put him back in the nest. His parent(s) can't smell 'human' on him.
Anywho, I realized that, out of two boxed of food coloring, all my yellow is gone.
What to do?
Turmeric to the rescue!
I put some turmeric w/ water in a small bowl, and I take the offending egg whites out of Conrad's bowl, and I place them in the turmeric-infused water. I then let the eggs sit a few minutes to absorb the yellow color. After rinsing them off quickly in water, they have a definite yellow-orange hue to them, but they're not stark white.
(Greys also have a VERY discerning sense of taste. He can easily taste the difference between plain egg whites and a cooked whole egg - and he can even taste the slightly turmeric-flavored egg whites, but that, indeed, is something that he is just going to have to get over - something he's going to have to deal with, because I can't and won't change it.
I nonchalantly put the colored egg whites back in his food bowl, and the bowl back in his cage. RELUCTANTLY AS HELL, he is actually eating the whites. He's not at all thrilled with the situation, and I'm still hearing lots of begging coming from that room, but hey - he's eating his breakfast!
- Michael
Even thought the huge Wentzville, MO Flea Market is open year-round (very early Sunday mornings), for various reasons, I limit my visits to seasons when outdoor temps are tolerable. My last visit of the season is sometime in October, and my first visit is usually in April.
I wear my own homemade gear to make the early chilly Sunday mornings a bit more tolerable:
I go to the Market 3 - 4 times a year. On many occasions, I have spent not a single dollar, but on several visits, I spent $100, but I rarely exceed that limit. Through the years, I have found many items that I have been wanting to buy, but I waited for a good deal.
On in the case of shopping do I have 'patience'. I taught myself, note-by-note, how to read music above the age of 40. I play at least 6 heavy-handed Scott Joplin tunes every day, along with probably 20 other songs that bring something else to the table, as so to speak. I play the other songs 1) Because I like them and 2) since I am my own music teacher, these songs teach me various things that I want to learn.
I also taught myself how to knit.
I grow very-non-local tropical fruits and other plants from seed that I have taken from fruit that I get at a local Global Market.
When unsuspecting folk tell me, "Oh, I don't have the patience to do those things!", in doing so, they subconsciously are giving themselves this 'wild and wooly' power AND making a lousy excuse to be lazy.
I respond, "I am the most impatient Son-of-a-Bitch that you will ever meet. I have no patience AT ALL. 'Patience' are for lazy people that sit around and wait for something to happen. 'PERSEVERANCE' is for those of us who cuss a lot - then, we get the job done!"
ANYWHO.....
From the same man that I bought my original 20 control panel glass light covers, I the same found a small bucket full of these glass control panel light indicator covers (??). I bought a total of 35 of these little gems - for 10 cents a piece. I paid $3, because he gave me 5 free. They are in red, green, white and yellow.
I have a friend that is turning the original 20 pieces into a choker similar to the one that I wear in all of my profile pics.
I don't know what I'll do with these 35, but I'm sure they'll get a new life as a piece of fabulous jewelry or a sculpture, etc.
I also bought a "ChromAharP" (that's the way it's spelled on the 1968 insruction manual!) instrument.
Yep. That's just what I need - another musical instrument! Even though the same company is still in business today, these little beauties are still being made and sold today. We paid $40 for this one, which is a very good price when compared to eBay prices. I do need to replace a couple strings, but that's not a major issue.
I play my xylophone and now this 'ChromAharP' to make me think about the music that I'm playing, rather than just to play a keyboard off the top of my head. In this manner, I teach myself MORE about music - and more about myself. These two instruments make me stop and THINK. Doing things that make you REALLY think builds physical brain. Really. It does. (No, not those little tidbits of information that make you say, "Oh, I learned something today!" That's a cheap cop-out, folks, and it does little to nothing to actually make new neurons connect in your head. Doing things that force you to exercise your brain will, in fact, build new and better brain matter - and it will make more efficient use of the brain matter that you already have.
We got three pair of nice, wooly winter socks from the famed 'Sock Lady' for a total of $6. #2 for a pair of sock isn't a bad investment.
I know.... I know... Another thing that I need to take up space in our home is another hat, right?
I couldn't resist this one. The other 3 hats are worth somewhere around $1,000.
I paid $10 for this 'Resistool Beaver 4X' cowboy hat. This one will be my "I really want to wear a hat today, but it's too damned hot' OR 'I'm just going out of the house for a few minutes, and I don't want to go as "full Michael" today - type of hat. The same hat is running from $45 - $150 on eBay.
We got a bit of decor to add to "That 1960's House" that we live in.
This piece is easily 4' x 4'. The guy that sold it to us said he had 20 - 30 more like it in his garage. I can't help wonder in which manner were they originally used, but, it does add a focal point to our great room. Our price: $10
We live on a 1 acre plot. I do have a standard push lawn mower, but there are several occasions through the mowing season that I have a small strip of grass that needs to be cut - but the rest of the huge lawn does not.
This is particularly true of the space around my two small raised beds, and the grass around my potted plants, such as my 4 Pumelo (huge citrus) trees and my fig tree. The grass in the vicinity of these pots gets overspray from when I water the pots, and it grows more than the grass in the rest of our front / back lawns.
This new, 'old-fashioned' reel lawn mower does the trick! The guy that sold me this mower said his sister bought it,and used it once. These things are - new - at Home Depot, for example, for $89. The sharpening kit is an additional $15. I got $104 worth of merchandise for $30. "That's a deal!", considering that I would have happily paid the full price at the store - because I really wanted one of these mowers.
I love my little flea market finds! We live 35 miles from this flea market. I get my bod out of bed at 5:00 AM on days that I want to go to the flea market, and I am headed on down the road by 5:45 AM, so I can get a parking spot in the parking lot, rather than "parking way out". I get to the flea market at exactly 6:30 AM.
I believe the vendors can start selling by 6:00 AM, but, depending on the time of year / season, you can be shopping in the dark at 6:00 AM. 6:30 AM is early enough for me, and even so, I see lots of people pouring over tables of goodies with a flashlight at that time of the morning.
When we pull into the parking lot at 6:30 AM, it's 1/4 full. (This is a big parking lot!). If you wait until 6:45 AM - 7:00 AM to arrive, you won't find a single available parking space in the entire lot. AND... if you don't shop early, you will see the smart 'early birds' carrying the stuff that you REALLY wanted to buy past you as they're taking their goodies to their cars, to return to the Market to continue shopping.
So - there I am. At 6:30 AM.... in 'full form' (hair on the face washed, moussed, hairsprayed and blow dried into place... eyeliner on... great fashionable clothes - hat on the head, pushing my granny cart! (And... I have to feed and potty 3 picky dogs and one very mouthy parrot before I can leave the house!)
You will never regret buying a good quality hand cart. Within one or two shopping seasons, you will regret buying a $20 cart when one of the wheels falls off in the middle of a flea market shopping spree!
"The sweetness of a good deal is long forgotten while the bitterness of poor quality remains."
I bought this cart for $79 at The Container Store - after the wheels fell off my $20 cart. I hand-made the bag that fits perfectly inside to keep stuff from falling out! (a lot of people use an appropriately-sized cardboard box in the bottom of the cart for the same reason.)
- Happy shopping!
Michael
Just yesterday, I was climbing the outdoor human Habitrail - the "MonstroCity" at the St. Louis City Museum.
For more info https://www.citymuseum.org/ , or Google "St. Louis City Museum" for more images.
A little (8 yr old!) girl: "Why are you wearing girl's shoes?"
Back story:
I have very few pairs of shoes. To make a long story a little longer, I was born with an oddly clubbed foot (as opposed to 'normally clubbed'! ) My foot didn't point out laterally or inward - medially, as 'normal' clubbed feet do, but, instead, my foot pointed straight up in front of me, in the shape of a safety pin. I have a surgically reconstructed foot that - before it was all said and done - had an accidental maggot infestation. My foot has been put through the ringer. Shoes are made for people with predictable feet. At least one of my feet will not be appearing in anybody's crystal ball any time soon. My man-made ankle does not reside in the same space as a normal ankle. Mine is a little closer to the floor, and a bit more forward on the foot. Thusly, nearly any and all shoes will rub the wrong way, and depending on the resilience of the shoe's material, I will have a bloody blister on my ankle (the side of my foot that is medial - closest to the center of the body) within seconds, minutes or hours. When I wear dress shoes to funerals, etc, I have to wear 3 - 4 socks on one foot AND several Band-Aids on my ankle so I won't be limping in pain before I get out of the house, and to avoid bloody blisters that seep through my socks.
Anywho.... For that reason, it is difficult for me to find a pair of shoes that I find 'friend' instead of 'foe'. I wear toed socks that I hand-knit year-round with sandals, with the exception of during the few deeper winter snows that the St. Louis region may or may not get. Even so, I usually wait them out, refusing to leave the house even to go just a few feet to the mailbox until the snow has melted off all sidewalks, roads and parking lots.
If I absolutely must get out of the house before the snow has adequately melted, I have a pair of Zoe thick-soled Doc Marten shoes that I can wear if we have only a couple of inches of snow on the ground. If the snow is deeper, I do have a pair of snow boots, but in the 12 years that I have owned those boots, I can count the times on one hand that I have worn them.
I also have a pair of shoes that I wear when I ride my bicycle, and when I explore the City Museum (wearing sandals to that attraction would mean definite foot suicide!)
These shoes were purchased from a mall store - the "Journey" shoe store. They are MEN'S All-Star Converse tennis shoes.
Please note the available 'Men's' sizing:
Yes, they are Hot Raspberry pink glittered men's shoe.
(Those of you that know me on a personal level will readily admit that if I wanted to wear a pair of 8" stiletto platform Lady Gaga-inspired pumps to a local mall at 3:00 PM in the afternoon to do some shopping, I'd do just that very thing with no hesitation.)
Years before I knew the most famous drag queen on the entire damned planet - RuPaul - I used her mantra:
"What other people think of me is none of my damned business."
(Translated: What they think is a problem in their head, and in their own self-imposed prison. It has nothing to do with me or my head.)
I asked this little girl - sporting a very safe / tame Page Boy haircut, "Why do you think that my shoes are 'Girl's shoes'?
Her answer, "Because they're pink!"
(Mind you, her parents were standing immediately behind her during this entire exchange.)
I asked her, "Then what color are boy's shoes?"
Her answer "Blue!"
My response, "Then, pink is for girls, and blue is for boys?"
Her response (with such an authoritative, "I'm smarter than you" look on her face that definitely would make you want to pop her upside her head!) : "Yep! Those are girl's shoes!"
(About that time, her parents knew she was going to lose a battle against someone old enough to be her grandfather, and they said to her, "Oh, honey! I love those shoes! Men are wearing pink these days!")
I looked at the little girl (who, thankfully, was wearing a blue top!), "Then, if that were true, do you know that you're wearing a boy's shirt?"
Girl: "NUH UH!" (Translated: "No, I'm not!")
Me: "It's blue, isn't it? You said yourself that pink is for girls and blue is for boys. You're wearing a boy's shirt!"
At that point, I decided that she was already filled up to the top by her starchy parents, and that it would take more power than I had and more energy than I ever wanted to devote to her cause to make her more malleable, and to enjoy the world as-is, rather than try to run it from her own little corner of Ladue, MO. (We were in downtown St. Louis, but - you will have to trust me on this one - I KNOW THOSE PEOPLE LIVE IN LADUE!"
My final statement to her was:
"You're much to young to have already collected the number of double standards that already you possess! But - in your short years, you have really worked hard. You've already changed yourself from a free, malleable and creative mind to a controlling, self-imposed prison!"
I then looked up at her parents and said,
"Congratulations! When she grows up, she'll fit right in with the rest of the Republicans!"
Then - I went on about my way, exploring the fantastical St. Louis City Museum, freeing my mind and my body then more than I did before.
- Michael
