This is in no way representational of anything at all, ever, in my life or the lives of the friends I hold so dear; it's just funny, so settle down.

Holiday Open House!
Stop in for some holiday cheer.

Open house review and the like.

Interesting happenings during the studio-gallery open house:

Impromptu 'running man' in the gallery by one of the artists. Art moves people in mysterious ways. Go for it, man.

Ashing cigs on the floor (okay, this was probably me and it was about 2 am. I can't be held responsible for my drunk ass after about 1 o'clock).

Overheard, "You know you could build a triangular display of painted light switch covers and put the black and white ones in the middle and the colored ones in the four corners." Philosophical? Perhaps.
Too much free wine? Most definitely.

Overheard, "Where's the bathroom?"
"Next door at the Knickerbocker."
This is sad and also a true story. I was ready for a break from the hurried pace of the renovations (if you saw the place 4 weeks ago, you wouldn't be cry-assing over this). We're putting in a bathroom in the next month or so; and if I want to go next door to piss and bring back a Coors light at 4:30 in the afternoon, that's my pergorative, Bobby Brown.

Someone, "Wanna go to Harry's?" (this is a local campus bar).
Someone else (maybe me), "I wouldn't go to Harry's if you gave me $50 and all I had was a hamper of dirty underwear."
Okay, admittedly, this now sounds a little weird.

Art fanatics and local dignitaries elbow to elbow in the overheated gallery ferociously debating the post-modern movement while digging at their scalps for emphasis.
This may be a tiny exaggeration, settle yourself down.

Everyone wanting to know the color of that darn purple wall.
I will never tell, trade secret. And by 'never tell' I mean maybe it's Harvest Corn and that you could possibly get it from Menard's.
Satin. Dutch Boy. Dura Clean. God, I'm too easy.


It was a fabulous evening.

Sincere thanks to the artists, friends and shoppers who stopped in and showed your support for the cause. Stroll in for your holiday goods for those family members who demand the best and have no problem telling you this at the dining room table during Thanksgiving with aunts and uncles that you've not seen since 1996. 'Keep the family harmonious', that's my motto. Also, 'Buy custom stained glass and art for the holidays', that's another. I'll stop now.
Thanks everyone.

Gallery open house and general swankiness this Friday.
Willow Stained Glass Studio and the modern art gallery will host an open house Friday, November 11th from 5-9. This will be in conjunction with the Downtown Holiday Open House (carriage rides, horse poop in the streets, etc). Come by and check out the new space, take a look at some fabulous artwork from over 15 local and regional artists, eat some finger foods, drink some wine, then head next door to the Knickerbocker Saloon for your Friday happy hour apple-tini. Your night is complete.


Tweed jacket with suede elbow patches, optional.

My carnivorous canines beg for raw carrots; I find this hysterical, my husband, however, does not.

I know this is late, but you gotta love a man who'll dress as the King in a jumpsuit and a wig and go barhopping with his girl on Halloween;















and then talk trash with Buddy Holly.

One year ago next month, my dog left her tail at the veterinarian's office.
Without going into the reasons that are now quite obvious regarding my new awareness of not choosing a dog from the local newspaper under 'Absolutely Free', this tale (sorry, Isabella, no pun intended) begins eleven years ago when I selected the German Shepherd mix from a small Lafayette home. I stepped into her life heroically and took her home in a microwave box in the front seat of my 1990 Grand Am. The cutest grey eyes ever, I was convinced.

Shortly after, I planned our first trip to the Wildcat Creek for initiation (i.e- submersion into water, to see if she had what it took to be called 'my dog', which she ultimately passed quite easily, I should say). My first indication that she was no normal canine should have occurred to me that afternoon when we were winding through the trees in the car on our way to the big adventure as she jumped from window to window in the back seat sniffing at the air. Now a 1990 Pontiac Grand Am's back windows only roll down about halfway, but that was quite enough for Isabella because as the car sped around one of the many curves, she tumbled out the window into the street. I watched in horror and wonder in my rearview mirror as she bounced on the road behind me. She was unharmed, miraculously, and we continued on our way to the water.

So the issue of the tail comes as no real surprise:
age + tail cyst + dog who enjoys chewing on it's own body more than I'm comfortable with = $800 vet bill to remove the tail and 11 months of follow up appointments with continued disbelief that she's still chewing on the 4 inch nub.

Man's best friend, my ass.

Opening my wallet and dumping the contents out the car window while traveling at 80 mph down the interstate would have yielded the same results.

So I took on a job recently that left me with that feeling of, 'Shit, do I really want to be doing this type of work?' and, 'Damn, who can I underpay to get this job done for me while I make a little something for myself?'. This met with disastrous results by way of several deep scratches in the tempered glass upon delivery, by the way; but I digress.

The idea of being able to 'do it all' in my field of work is enticing; as, no doubt, in many other careers, I assume. So all of this not-wanting-to-be-outdone-by-the-overachieving-high school-age-supermarket-clerk-who-displays-his 'perfect-attendance' pin-with-pride, all of this social pressure led me to agree to take on a project that was neither carefully planned (on my end, apparently) nor profitable to anyone but the giant local hardware store that received a panicked phone call from me on Saturday evening at, say, 8:12 pm to reorder another door to begin reworking the order.

So the next time I see Lance at the Payless Supermarket, with his dumb little shiny pin, I'll be sure to squint my eyes and crinkle my nose nastily at him for the unintentional contribution he had to my recently failed project and at my own stupidity for subbing work out to an artist with an abundance of testosterone and a Popeye complex.

Art from the Heart: The Hurricane Relief Silent Art Auction

If you're local, and by local I mean anywhere near Indiana and give a hoot about the displaced victims and the destruction of the Gulf region caused by Hurricane Katrina, this is an event not to be missed.

Get in on it.

"I humbly relinquish my blogging virginity, Father Ted. Just please don't throw me into the volcano."

Let’s call this first one a test.
And not merely the kind that caused nausea forty-three minutes before language arts class due to the inability to priortize one’s need for an esteemed education at a real college versus the desire to spend the majority of the morning deciding which thrift shop dress to wear for the weekly club outing.
Nope, nothin’ like that.


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