For reals. The bitch is living the bohemian life I’m supposed to be living. True story. A vedic astrologer told me so. She stole my totem animals; bees & crows. Another true story. A traditional first nations healer told me so. I know, I know. Totem animals are supposed to be dark and edgy, but I’m quite happy with the thought that my spirit guides are are busy bumbling lazily from flower to flower or being distracted by shiny things and bits of string. I don’t care that it means I’m a fickle child. She stole my fashion aesthetic and she anthropomorphises clothing the way I do. And ‘Seussian‘ is my adjective. I made it up in 1992 whilst describing to my father the dining chairs and stair rails I want him to make for me. I have fellow blogger and lover of decay, Leslie, for helping me to discover the transgression. One day I’m going to waltz right up to Ms. Puett’s front door and demand it all back…or propose and hope that she’ll keep me in the manner to which I would like to become accustomed in return for sexual favours, great food and hours of mindless entertainment.
And have some more eye candy too:
Maybe we don’t need to get hitched at all. I could just live in the chicken coop and be her back door Jezebel.
Oh my. Shiney, shiney, dusty books and magnolias and stuffed dead things. How could I not love her?