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A lifestyle blog by Alan Pierce on The Whole 9

Jury Duty

I just completed my first my first official act of 2011 – Jury Duty.  I was actually delighted.  I’ve been unemployed pretty much all of 2010 and I always wanted to do jury duty…and god knows I need to be out amongst the general public once in a while before I go completely insane at home.  I scribbled a few observations of my time there.

  • Orientation is inane and by-god next time I’m avoiding it.  It breaks up into three parts: the guy who babbles for 20 minutes about how hard jury duty USED to be; the cranky broad who has to explain the affidavit and questionnaire over and over and over to the dipshits in jury duty; and the guy who rambles about the day’s procedure and the giant burrito he can get for $4.25 down on Grand Ave.
  • There is a potential jurist that sounds like a Tribble <think Star Trek>.  I can’t find her, but I hear her.
  • A big girl camped out in front of the vending machines.  She hasn’t stopped chewing in three hours.
  • There’s a Hip/Hippy grandma whose ass hangs out of olive green cargo pants every time she bend over.  I’m horrified to say that she’s going commando.
  • An aging hipster is sitting across from me.  He’s as twitchy as a meth addict, wearing a skullcap and has shoulders that ride up high and stiff.
  • Three giant girls with red sweaters and stretch pants are carefully avoiding each other.

  • A geek is trying to be cool.  He’s got a giant leather messenger bag and is hauling around a 2.5 gallon water bottle like he’s at Gold’s Gym.  He hasn’t been away from his online porn this long since that bout of Dodgeball he went through in 2004.
  • The woman whose seat I stole just glared at me and muttered under her breath.  Her brassy hair is pulled too tight and she has rosacea and thin, bloodless lips.  Her name is Tammy.

–{The sound of the Tribble ended up being the fluttery sound of a chair shuddering under one of the big girls in red.}–

  • “There’s a TV in back.  But it’s broken.”  This is probably for the best, because this crowd would be fighting to see Jerry Springer. Actually I’m more afraid of the response we’d get if they saw “their” episode on Jerry Springer.  It could turn into a riot and we don’t have Steve Wilko in the house to keep people from going overboard.
  • Sitting at 2 o’clock is one of those “artsy” cholas.  Raggedy Ann red hair is fading around the edges and she’s chompimg Hubba Bubba like a cow chewing its cud.  Thank god her lip-liner is NEVER coming off.
  • Middle aged love is happening on the front row, but it’s poor middle age.  He’s telling her humorous stories of road trips in his Corolla.  They’re both some indistinct version of Asian – he’s balding and attempting to make up for it with humor, she’s chubby and can hear her eggs drying.  Actually we can all hear her eggs drying…it sounds like Rice Krispies.
  • Of course there is another hipster in the room.  This one is younger and paid good money to look like white trash.  The camouflage hat and prodigious mullet are sold out by the Hollister Co. Huntington Slim Straight Destroyed jeans he’s wearing.  Seriously…that’s the name of his jeans.  Not only did he not rub anything into pseudo-poverty by himself, the only thing he HAS distressed is his parents.

–{The girl in the Tribble chair just leaned back and stretched out flat-ish.  The stretch pants, suddenly revealed another roll of fat at the top of each thigh in the groin area.  And then it was a gigantic camel toe.]–


I am ALWAYS the only person in a large room that actually WANTS to be on a jury.  After decades of LA Law, Law and Order and the CSIs, I really want to experience the real thing.  And you know I like a good plot.  But alas, I sat in this room from 7:45am – 4:15pm with absolutely nothing to show for it.  At least they could’ve given us something to do.  Like handling the switchboard for California Unemployment.  Those people don’t even leave you the OPTION of leaving a voice-mail.
2011 is going to be a great year, kids.  Run out and OBSERVE.


I have an observation….about your last paragraph.

“I am ALWAYS the only person in a large room that actually WANTS to be on a jury. After decades of LA Law, Law and Order and the CSIs, I really want to experience the real thing.”

I believe your last post was about finding your PASSION?

Well…hmmm…maybe something to consider here?

Just a thought ;)

Funny. Bigoted as hell, but amusing. LA metropolitan courthouse is both an interesting and depressing place. Lots of poor single moms, deadbeat dads, prostitutes without their makeup, petty criminals, terminal losers, the hard-pressed, dispossessed, badly dressed, trying to get back cars that’ve been repossessed plus the large numbers of low-rent lawyers in cheap suits, smelling of bad cologne that come with the territory.

No one’s happy to be there, that’s a fact.The chairs are hard, the carpet stained, the lines long, the clerks surly and the coffee bad. You sit around endlessly waiting to be called, then longer to be chosen, or not.

But they’ve got computers you can use (though your phone’s probably 3 times as fast), you can get into any LA county or city museum for free while serving (including MOCA which is only 10 blocks away), everyone goes home at 5, sometimes earlier and, who knows, you might get on the next OJ trial, get stuck for 6 months, but then write a book, go on Oprah and make a fortune. Be optimistic, could happen.

Then again, once your in an actual court room with a judge and prosecutors and all, when they call your name you might say your uncle was a cop and he was an asshole- that will almost always get you off. Or you could claim your religious convictions come before any man made laws- that’ll get you out for sure. You could also just ignore that summons that arrived in the mail; hey, don’t worry, no one can prove you received it; they don’t send em by certified mail. Or… you could do your “civic duty”, keep a game face and show up like the rest of us poor schmucks answering the demands of the ‘man’. And there’s always that chance you’ll be chosen for the next OJ, Phil Spector or spilled hot coffee trial, where you too could be in the news and play a part in history.

I have been on both a county & state/federal jury. Each had it’s own craziness, but it’s definitely facinating & worth doing. I think you would be fabulous juror! Maybe you could even find your true calling from the whole process :)


Happy New Year, dear friends.  Perhaps this year I’ll be a bit more verbose.

On a personal note, this year of unemployment has been difficult for me.  One reason being that many people have asked me what my “passion” is.  The troubling fact is that I can’t think of an answer.  Perhaps finding an answer to that should be my goal for 2011.

Have a glorious start to a fantastic new year.


“We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.”
~ Thornton Wilder


I hear ya…the past two years of unemployment have been a challenge for me as well. I have a few things that I know are “passions,” but finding the focus to really push and make them a reality for income has been harder than I thought. I’ve learned a great deal about where I resist and procrastinate and have fears that I need to let go of.

For finding your passion…try creating a mindmap. Think about what you do automatically…on your own…when no one is looking…where you naturally gravitate to. What makes you feel great?

A friend of mine and I sat down yesterday and made a list of 11 things, or resolutions if you want to call them that, which we wanted to do, persue, or build on this year. And then wrote down what we were going to do for a first step this week. Felt really good to do that :)


Vote like you’re a Christian who actually has love and compassion and isn’t just waiting for an excuse to shoot someone.

Vote like you love children and aren’t just ranting with rage as their lives are being saved through health care reform – and that you realize the biggest opponent of health care reform is insurance and pharmaceutical companies.

Vote like you’re an American who isn’t looking to tear down others…and that you realize that the love between other people isn’t destroying the sanctity of anything.

Vote like you believe in what the founding fathers struggled for.


Where’s the HELL YEAH! button when you need it?!

…and if you’re Californian, vote yes on Prop 19 so we can get this state out of the financial shitter.

Our Town

In July of 1999, approximately one month after I moved to Los Angeles, my dear friend Laura Hermann visited.  I made my way out to LAX to pick her up.  That early in my residency, everything seemed SO far away.  I didn’t have the road rage yet – I was merely terrified on the highways.  So I took side streets.  We chatted as we left LAX – terribly excited by our upcoming time together in a new city.  I assumed that the street I took led back to Sepulveda, but about 30 minutes later I looked to the left and noticed that I was directly across from downtown.  I had taken Century Blvd.

We decided to aim for downtown from there and we spent the next hour vaguely (and sometimes NOT-so-vaguely) terrified as we drove through scary neighborhood after scary neighborhood.  Street lights had been shot out of most of the lights we encountered and shadowy figures resided on darkened corners.  We felt incredibly white that night – probably for no reason.  I was more scared that night than I was the night I went to Cabrini Green for a crack pickup back in my Chicago days (that’s another story ALTOGETHER).  We made it to my new residence on Hollywood and Vista, exhausted and exhilarated

The thing about my dear Laura is, however, that she comes with an agenda – and the next day was no exception.  She had her list of things she wanted to see and number one on the list was Watts Towers.  We grabbed a Thompson Guide – all 800 pages of it – and set off back through the trails of the night before.  And it was glorious.

Last week, amidst all the horrors of the politics of today (Arizona’s racial profiling SB1070, Proposition 8, “Christians” throwing a bloody fit about proposed mosques in New York City and Tennessee , Glenn Beck going insane, and the sound of Meg Whitman droning on and on as she buys a capital), I escaped back to Watts Towers – Nuestro Pueblo:  Our Town.

ALL THIS was my tour guide.  She’s the cutest, sweetest thing….  I have NO idea what her name is.

An Italian immigrant, Sabato Rodia built Nuestro Pueblo over a period of 33 years.  It is the world’s largest single construction created by one individual.

The structures have no welded inner structure.  Reinforced steel was wired together then wrapped with wire mesh and hand-packed with mortar.  He used sea shells, tiles, broken crockery, green ginger ale bottles, and glass insulators as embellishments; the towers sparkle in the daylight.

Sabato “Simon” Rodia, born in southern Italy in 1879,  immigrated to the United States around the age of ten and worked on his sculpture from 1921 – 1954.  When asked about the project, he stated: “I had it in mind to do something big, and I did it.”

Do you ever get the feeling that you should be doing more?



Very cool! I hope you post more of these little adventures around the town in the future. Seeing that I might be moving out that way in the coming months, it would be great to know some of the sites and such my lady and I can go out and explore when we get there. Great post!

Road Trip

The Fever Jones and I were invited to join our dear friends, the Hermann’s, with them in Morro Bay.  As we all know by now, I’m ALWAYS up for a road trip and it HAD been quit a while.  California was still suffering from “June Gloom” in July and I was desperate to get to the ocean so we took off early one Friday morning.  The drive was lovely.  The scenery was lovely.

The first stop we made (if you ignore the two Starbucks ventures along the way) was, of course, the Madonna Inn.  The Madonna Inn is this amazing and eclectic motel in San Luis Obispo.  It has 110 rooms that have names such as “Yosemite Rock”, “Traveler’s Yacht”, and “Fox & Hound” that are decorated in a style befitting those names and oddities throughout the property.

This is the famous men’s restroom on the basement level of the Madonna Inn.  Me taking a picture at the “waterfall” urinal is not the most horrifying aspect to this restroom – all the women waiting outside until the men vacate the room is.  I AM, however, completely fascinated by the fact that the waterfall doesn’t splatter as you stand there peeing.

Morro Bay.

Wikipedia has this to say about the rock:  “Morro Rock was named in 1542 by Portuguese navigator Juan Rodríguez Cabrillo, who explored the Pacific Coast for Spain. Cabrillo called the rock El Moro because it resembled the head of a Moor, the people from North Africa known for the turbans they wore. However, the dictionary definition for the Spanish word “morro” (“pebble”) is also consistent with the shape of the rock, and so the term morro is frequently used wherever such a distinctive rock-like mountain is found within the Spanish speaking world.”

Personally I like the one where it’s the shape of someone’s head.

Abalone:  looks like vagina; tastes like…chicken?

Glass blowing in Harmony.

Elephant seals just north of San Simeon and the Hearst Castle.  This time of year they’re just laying there molting.  And smelling.

Nitt Witt Ridge in Cambria.  It’s a California National Landmark and the plaque reads:  “Nitt Witt Ridge, one of California’s remarkable twentieth-century folk-art environments, is the creation of Arthur Harold Beal (Der Tinkerpaw, or Capt. Nitt Witt), a Cambria Pines pioneer who sculpted the land using hand tools and indigenous materials, inventiveness and self-taught skills. A blend of native materials and contemporary elements, impressive in its sheer mass and meticulous placement, it is a revealing memorial to Art’s cosmic humor and zest for life. California Registered Historical Landmark No. 939. Plaque placed by the State Department of Parks and Recreation in cooperation for saving and preserving arts and cultural environments with the Art Beal Foundation, non-profit and educational corporation. June 26, 1986.”

At this point my available space for pictures has run out.  Which is bad, because you know I love pictures.


I too love the Madonna Inn…although I suspect it’s a bit seamier than I remember it from my childhood…and no, I don’t remember my grandmother showing her, ahem, impressionable granddaughter the waterfall urinal. But FYI…I did increase your storage capacity ;)

June Bug

It’s June and I can’t even remember when I last wrote a blog.  I feel the months and months of guilt, but that’s not productive.  I really did put a lot of work into a blog, several weeks’ worth, but I could never quite pull it together.  And then I couldn’t write.  So, writer’s block exists.  Who knew?   Here I am at my local Starbucks, in the Farmer’s Market.  The guy who plays Ryan from The Office is in line behind me -  just another of those teeny tiny little boys with a large and fairly oddly shaped head.  *sigh*

Perhaps I’ll just babble a little to um, er…clean out the pipes as it were.

What I really wanted to do was to write a blog called “‘Prom Night” and talk about this lovely girl I met a couple of months ago.  Her name is Constance McMillan and, as most of us know, she’s the girl from Mississippi whose high school decided that, rather than have her in a tux escorting her girlfriend, they’d rather cancel the prom.  She got loads of media attention including a college scholarship from Ellen, an invitation to Perez Hilton’s birthday party, was awarded the “Courage Award” by LifeWorks Mentoring at the Life Out Loud benefit, and will be the 2010 Grand Marshall for the NYC Gay Pride Parade.  And she’s really just ALL over the country these days.  Of course her school later decided to have the prom but directed her to a fake prom where they put all their special students (i.e. the fags and the Special Olympics victims).

I have just a couple of things to say:  a) the actions the school took caused Constance’s classmates to be dicks to her.  One little boy in particular is being an assbag…calling her a dyke and such.  He’s gay.  Someone should nip that shit in the bud before we end up with another airport bathroom toe-tapper;  b) grow up Mississippi.  Didn’t you learn ANYTHING while dealing with your civil rights issues; and c) I’ve noticed that the little gay bloggers are all a’twitter about her hot-as-fuck father.  Trust me boys…he’s even hotter in person.  He’s built, humble, sweet…and as straight as they come.  He’s just a good daddy who wants his daughter to be happy.  Back off.

I just had to explain “June Gloom” to the French couple sitting next to me at Starbucks.  The woman was attempting to explain it to her boyfriend, but was calling it “June Bug”.  Silly French, take off your clothes.

I turned 42 on April 11th.  We had the party at our cute little neighborhood bar, Sheddy’s Public Parlour.  Beer, Wine, cheese plates and the most delightful owner and staff.  These days it’s either  “Meet me at Third and Fairfax” or wander a half block down Fairfax and meet me at Sheddy’s.  The party was delightful, the attendees were fantastic, and after 4 hours of “Happy Hour” we stumbled down to Tart for dinner and desserts.  Yup, I’m officially 42 (lbs overweight).  *sigh*

“He-who-touches–me-inappropriately”, aka the Fever Jones (aka Mic Duggan) has a new show, the Brooke Fever Follies.  He and our lovely Brooke Wilkes have put together something terribly vaudevillian and OH – so entertaining.  Comedians and singers, some interpretive dance done in gold Speedos (while the lovely Aimee Boice sings “Goldfinger”, for instance), a magician here and there and a little burlesque – you just never know what you’re going to witness.  Neither, of course, did the 8 year old that showed up at the first show.  Brooke was in her leather cat suit getting a spanking, Matina Bevis was having an Alabaman hot flash and Fever was “doing” Kim Kardashian in every possible position…that is, now, one well-educated child.  For more info on the show, on the Fever Jones, or simply for a horoscope go to:

And as for me, I’ve taken a part time job with the AIDS Healthcare Foundation.  I’m helping to put together the 1st Annual AIDS Healthcare Foundation AIDS Walk (food and music festival and concert).  First I’ll be coming for walkers (don’t you think a “Team TheWhole9” has a nice ring to it?) and, failing to get you to walk, I’ll be coming for money.  But really, everyone should participate in this event.  It’s going to be a FANTASTIC day…and the concert will be the happy ending.  It’s all going to be around the Greek Theatre and it’s all going to be a good time for a good cause – WITH good people.

Save the date! Sunday, September 26th – your schedule should look like this:

2:00 PM
Check-in begins and the Food & Music Festival kicks off big-time just north of the Greek Theatre on Vermont in Griffith Park. Over 20 different free food vendors, two live music stages and rides for all ages including our very own Ferris Wheel, Pirate Ship Ride, Giant Slide, Climbing Wall, Game Booths and the Magic Johnson Free Throw Toss are all included in the bash.  Kick-back and picnic with free food while listening to music tucked in the shade of the walnut, mahogany and oak trees in the largest municipal park in the entire United States.

4:30 PM
As the Food & Music Festival continues in the middle of one of the most beautiful parks on the planet, families and friends will come together to enjoy fun, food, music and camaraderie. Our 5K California AIDS Walk takes us through Griffith Park. This low-stress Walk will begin and end at the Greek Theatre with plenty of entertainment and refreshments along the way.

6:00 PM
With the AIDS Healthcare Foundation Festival right outside it’s front doors, the Greek Theatre will open and the music will begin. For three hours our superstar walkers, who raised a minimum of $200, will enjoy some of music’s biggest stars under the stars at the iconic Greek. Registered walkers will get weekly updates on the concert line-up. Every walker will receive a free event tee-shirt!

9:00 PM
The 1st Annual California AIDS Walk and Food & Music Festival comes to a close….For just 364 days!

And how would you feel if you got to do it all…with ME?  YAY!  Good times, right?  So here’s the deal:  Gather your friends, fans and coworkers and get signed up.

Go here:  WWW.WALKEATDANCE.ORG.  Get started.  And we’ll let the good times roll.

So I’ve been sitting at this Starbucks for 3 hours.  I’ve seen two, mid-30s women looking for their internet dates; explained to the French couple that it’s “June Gloom” not “June bug”; and been completely fascinated by a guy whose ball was sticking out of his shorts (a thanks to Haught Wheels of the LA Derby Dolls for “Excuse me, I think you sat in some gum”).  And I think I’ve worn out my welcome.  AND old people keep popping in, taking little naps and then continuing on their day.

Oh HELL.  Someone has brought their TYPEWRITER to Starbucks.  I’m out.  Love to you all….

And by the way:

(people in Kentucky don’t get the joke).


Wow, most definitely have caught me up to speed.
Happy Belated!
I would like to meet the man who utilizes his typewriter at Starbucks haha analog is not dead!

Ps. Thanks for the AIDS Walk info!

There truly is entertainment waiting to be had around every corner in Los Angeles and you have just proved it. Look forward to chatting about The Whole 9 Aids Walk team and to hopefully seeing you around more often.

Long overdue to give you a shout out on your blog. Fun read as always. Keep it coming.

There is a channel for this you know.

“Historians, it is said, fall into one of three categories:
Those who lie.
Those who are mistaken.
Those who do not know.”

History is such an interesting thing. Though it’s not really the case, it appears that you have to have done something interesting to have one. People are constantly trying to leave their mark on the world to remind people that they were there. Families are having enough children to staff a football team (I don’t know how many that is, but I’m assuming Octomom over-shot it); kids are spray-painting their names on every flat surface; men and women are trying to populate walls with their artwork and shelves with their stories; but seriously, aren’t serial killers the only names we can rattle off on command?


Recently the Fever Jones re-introduced me to the History Channel and I’ve been watching a show called “Life After People”. The show doesn’t explain how or why people disappeared, but just how the world will look from 1 day to 50 million years after people disappear. It’s fascinating. After just a day , things start to break down. Even the 10,000 year clock doesn’t last ten years because it was only a prototype and they never got the money to build the real one. Skyscrapers crumble and water, it appears, it the death of any structure.

There was a story about a professor who left a steel encased, air-tight room in a university building with the instructions that it shouldn’t be opened until 8313 AD (or some such nonsense). The room was filled with objects that would should those in the future what we were like. Amongst the entombed items were mannequins to show how we appeared, a typewriter, and some vials full of beer (made, of course, by Anheuser). They found that doorway covered in spiderwebs only 30 years later. After only 30 years, nobody even remembered about the room and, were the instructions not on the door, nobody would’ve understood what was going on.  As for the 8313, the audience could watch as a trickle of water ended up bringing down the building around the steel room and then began on a microscopic imperfection that came about during that fall.  I think the room made it almost 250 years.

My high school time capsule, opened at the 10 year reunion revealed that I was most known for wearing mass quantities of Polo (not bad in a town devoid of  cologne).  Of course that and the fact that I was a suspected homosexual.  Small towns are a good time.  But after all these years and the masses of people I’ve collected and kept over the years, I do have to wonder how I’ll go down in history.  “Funny Uncle Alan” to the children of all my best friends; only to be forgotten in a couple of generations?  Cranky old Mr. Pierce who refuses to make eye contact with the neighborhood children or the homeless so they’ll go away?  Or do I have a mass killing in my future?  Alan Dean Pierce.  Hmm.  Perhaps I should write a book instead.

“There is properly no history, only biography.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson


The dichotomy of this entire piece is really stellar. So here we humans are eating up the resources we have at our fingertips and yet without us, nothing ends up surviving. Crazy.

Great read! I absolutely LOVE this show myself. It is amazing to think that for all of our efforts, attitudes, creations, hoarding, collections, structures, objects, and designs created within the course of our existence that within a few centuries this planet could basically wipe the slate clean as if we’d never existed at all. The most interesting one yet was where they showed what alien archaeologists would find millions of years from now, and that within the sedimentary layers human kind would be but a thin layer of concentrated metals, minerals, and plastics and nothing more. The human legacy in a nutshell per-se. :)

It is rather funny that most people are so obsessed with this idea of leaving a legacy. Personally, once I’m gone, does it really matter if people remember me? No. I won’t know whether they do or don’t. But instead of trying to leave a physical sign or symbol of my existence, I should strive more to leave something that will impact the world in a positive way, whether I cure a disease (okay, personally that’s beyond my scope), or tell a funny joke that can always make my family last even after I’m not around to tell it anymore.

Imagine. 1000 years from now. A leveled planet. No Republicans, no Democrats, no terrorists. No churches, no bibles, no korans. No white people, no black people…no red white and blue…just cases and cases and cases of Twinkies and Velveeta refusing to deteriorate and biodegrade.


Awesome read. That poster is hilarious!

A gift for my girls…

I’ve got many single girls…all beautiful, educated and with careers…but single, nevertheless, and I can’t figure out why.  Of course I don’t actually want one of my own, but it’s always been such a mystery to me why they’re alone.

I was at the coffee shop the other day (I’m now reading “The Fountainhead”) and I saw the boy I want to give to ALL my single girls.  He’s easy on the eyes, intelligent, sensitive and a reader.  And doesn’t that bottom lip just BEG to be kissed?

Happy Holidays, all my dear friends.  The Fever Jones and I will expect an invitation to the wedding reception.  And remember, my presence IS the present.


Shopping in Hell

Recently I was shopping with my beloved Sheila (LA Derby Doll “Haught Wheels”).  She was on the prowl for an inexpensive coat and I was on board for the show (and some lovely new socks).  It was a Marshalls/Ross Dress-for-Less kind of day, and we were surrounded by the masses…AND their parents.  And then it happened.  My utter disdain for Ed Hardy jumped onto a canvas and then I was done.

And seriously, do I even need to mention the hat?  WTF is up with the STICKER still on it?

Remember, people everywhere:  Friends don’t let friends wear douchebag.

Enjoy the holiday season, but make sure to watch out for these people.  They’re not going to want anything you’re shopping for, but they’re bound to be in your way.


i just noticed the tron guy on your banner and i laughed so hard

Guess who’s coming to Thanksgiving Dinner

Halloween is over, but Catwoman is coming to Thanksgiving dinner.  I hope your dad isn’t an ass man.

Have a lovely Thanksgiving holiday.  Always remember to be thankful for something.  Or perhaps you should just be thankful that the pictures don’t really show that these pants are see-through.

“As each day comes to us refreshed and anew, so does my gratitude renew itself daily. The breaking of the sun over the horizon is my grateful heart dawning upon a blessed world.” ~ Adabella Radici  (By the way, I can find NOTHING on this person though there are thousands of hits on Google.  There isn’t an ounce of information that I can find on the actual person. Does anyone know who Adabella Radici is?)


This makes me feel so much better about getting out my fat jeans for the weekend!

Thanks for sharing this amazingly large and disturbing ass to make us thankful for you, your phone, and your awe inspiring ability to find the most truly grotesque and and wonderfully tasteless people in all of the world! You are a wonderful friend to so many people and we love you! Have a fab holiday!

I think Adabella Radici is anagram for something…I just don’t have time to figure it out. :o )

Despite the fact that I barely exist, those pictures still make me rethink my enthusiasm and display of silly, sparkly, spandex pants.

I am thankful for… a good laugh. Thanks, and Happy Thanksgiving!