Ask Canhamiana: Photos and Stuff…..Part Two

Welcome to part two.  Sorry it took me so long to get to this.  My excuses are: Life, laziness, playing with my cats, and habitual staring at blank blog screens for hours on end. I’m really good at that last one.

Anyway, let’s play!

Canhamiana before……I found this pic in my files.  It was taken on Guam in 1991 I think.   I was  there on a government boon doggle.  The actual business was scheduled for a week, but was over in a day and a half.  That left the rest of the week to find something to do.  I ended up visiting an archaeological site and helped open a pit until it was time to head back to Honolulu.  As you can see, I’m appropriately dressed for Indiana Jones style tomb raiding.

Check out those glasses and that hair.  God I’m a hottie.

By 1995 I was well into transition leaving those glasses and hair behind.

Canhamiana 1996 Santa Rosa,  CA.  This was taken the morning after an all day and night “T” party.  I was still pre boob job then.

Canhamiana 1998, Fairfax, VA.  Art Show.  I was doing an art show with “blondie” in Fairfax when she took this photo.  We were selling wood sculpture then. The banana boxes behind me were full of parts which we would assemble on site. Stop looking up my skirt!

Canhamiana 2000 Santa Rosa, CA.  Yeah this is a Canhamiana Xmas.

Canhamiana 2000, Santa Rosa, CA.  These were originally taken for a Naughty and Nice web page.  Naturally I got to be the naughty one.

Canhamiana 2000 Santa Rosa, CA  You’d be amazed at the many ways one can use a candy cane.

Canhamiana 2002 Warren MI.  I’ve talked about the “Bitch” Tattoo on my ass.  Here it is in the flesh, so to speak.  I was up in Warren doing a photo shoot for an SM website.  I don’t switch often….like hardly ever.  However, Mistress Janice asked me to sub for this shoot and I was more than willing because she trained me, and I got to enjoy a scene with her husband, a wonderfully skilled Master who knew just how to push my sub button…..Notice the leather glove….it went with a particular type of uniform.  OOOOOO Yumm O!!!!

Don’t bother to ask me for the link to that site.  It’s down, and has been down for the past few years.  I’m not sure why.

Canhamiana 2002 Warren MI.  This is from that same photo shoot/scene.  That felt so good!  The Domme Canhamiana was totally absent that day.

Canhamiana 2004  Cape Canaveral, FL.  I was up at the nudie beach posing in the water trying to be all sexy and stuff…..but I got whacked by a wave and this is the result.

Canhamiana 2003 Cape Canaveral, FL.  This is before the wave hit me.

Canhamiana 2004 Palm Bay, FL  I was practicing for a Victoria’s Secret bra add.

The Lady Canhamiana 2006 Port St. John, FL.  Yay! Play party fun.  There’s nothing like having at the ass of a sweet girlie sub with a crop.

The Lady Canhamiana 2006, Satellite Beach, FL.  This was a xmas eve play party at Casa Whack.  What Xmas party is complete without a rack, ropes, whips and chains?  I mean really. If you’re going to do it….do it right.  Tranny Claus even showed up at that party and gave everyone a spanking.

That’s it for part two.  Part three won’t happen until I have some new pics taken.  D, that’s your job!

Canhamiana

It’s The End Of The World As We Know It….and I feel fine.

YOU CAN BE TRANSSEXUAL

In light of the current surge of serious interest in transsexuals, and transsexuality it would appear that there will be more than just a casual interest in the process of being transsexual. Many who have never even considered changing their hair color may now take a sudden interest in changing their sex. In fact, it is soon possible that the dividing line between the hip and the squares may be whether or not one has changed their sex lately. As a public service, we of the Born to Change Clinic offer this guide to those who are considering this exciting and fun way to express your individuality.

Being transsexual is easy, fun and painless. This is why so many transsexuals fear that you will discover their secret and they will no longer have the status given them because of their uniqueness. Therefore, they have created lies about the difficulties involved in Transitioning from one gender to another. Actually, it is easier than you might think. As you will see, being transsexual is as easy as changing your name from Bob to Sue. Why should only a small elitist group have all the fun? You too can be part of this amazing and revolutionary trend.

WHAT IS A TRANSSEXUAL

In the old days it meant someone with a deeply rooted conviction that the gender in which society defined was erroneous. Of course, very few people actually believe this, so there were very few transsexuals. This made being transsexual really chic, as only a few of the truly select were allowed initiation into the transsexual cults that existed until recently. These cults required extensive initiation rites some of which were truly painful. One rite involved attempted mutilation of one’s sexual organ. If one had made serious attempts to destroy such organs acceptance into the society was almost guaranteed.

Now, with attitudes becoming much more relaxed it is quite easy to become a transsexual. One needs only to tell the world, “I am a transsexual“, and acceptance becomes almost automatic. Of course, some or the more ignorant among us may need slightly more convincing. This is why we are printing this guide, and offering our services to the public. On our staff are transsexuals with weeks of experience who only too gladly help run you through the mill, errr, program.

PICKING A NAME–THE ALL IMPORTANT FIRST STEP

Now, all transsexuals change their name. This is usually the first thing they do, long before they experience the joys of appearing in public in their new identity. The new name should express the change in the subject’s gender expression (a phrase meaning which sex you dress as) and picking the name should be a fun experience. Transsexuals enjoy doing this immensely; in fact, they are responsible for a sizable chunk of the sales of baby name books. Some though have complained that this is a boring and time consuming task, so we have a few suggestions. These are really cool names, and can be used for a small fee

GIRL NAMES

Binka , Britany, Briteny, Brittani, Brittany, Britteny, Clicki , Dippielle, Fawnanne, Popsicle, Slutty, Shampoo, Tunisia, Xanadu, Yawn

BOY NAMES

Boho, Boner, Cockatiel, Dork, Flowmaster, Floppo, Hunsinger, Lump, Meat, Pontiac, Stud, Terkel, Xanax, Yawner 

Hint: Don’t ever pick the name Skeeter, unless you want to play Country and Western Music

HOW YOU SHOULD DRESS

Transsexuals have lots of fun wearing clothes that they have always thought cool on their girlfriends or, if they were girls before, on their boyfriends. In fact, they can wear the clothes that their girl/boyfriend\end would never wear for them. Hey guys, remember that leather micro-mini that your girlfriend would never wear, well, now you can wear it every day if you want to. Plus tons of makeup, Yay!!!! Don’t forget about those five inch heels. You’ll be the talk of the town, I can guarantee that. You wannabe boys can have lots of fun looking in the L.L Bean catalogue. NRA Caps are real cool too.

VOICE

Male to female transsexuals should listen to old Four Seasons records, especially their early release, “Walk Like a Man”. If you talk like Frankie Valli sings, nobody will ever mistake you for a man.

Female to male transsexuals should shout at the top of their lungs constantly until you start spitting up blood. After you are released from the intensive care unit you should sound just like James Earl Jones.

ELECTROLYSIS (For those who want to be women only)

Unless you want to be the bearded lady, you will want to remove the now unnecessary facial growth. This can be lots of fun, as electrolysis is much like an invigorating facial massage. Some have compared this to techniques used by Savinola during the inquisition, but they are merely exercising the womanly trait of always complaining about the trouble which they go through to look beautiful.

HORMONES

Hormones can be really cool; in fact, it is so cool that many transsexuals do little else in their free time other than talk about their hormonal regimens, comparing notes with other transsexuals who have differing regimens. Discussions of the different regimens are beyond the scope of this article, but I can assure you that our doctors know what they are doing. After all, their commitment to their education as doctors can be attested to by their willingness to leave this country for a time to partake of the fine educational opportunities in Grenada.

What will hormones do? Why, they will make you a new person. If you don’t believe me , I’ll tell you a secret which is well known in Hollywood. Pamela Anderson Lee used to be a man.

Many have asked if hormones are safe. Look, life is a risk. If you walk outside you might be run over by a truck. Hormones are a lot safer than being run over by truck, so they must be safe. Right?

THE NEXT STEP–TRANSITION

Okay, you have a name, a cool wardrobe, and you sound just like Tony Curtis in “Some Like it Hot”. What to do next? Why, now is the really fun part. You get to tell all of your friends and relatives the good news. Of course, this will not be easy, as it will take some time. But this too will be fun, as all and sundry will rejoice at your decision. Your friends of the same gender will thrill at the possibility of having a girl/guy to date at a moment’s notice, and your friends who used to be of the opposite sex will have someone else to grouse to who will surely understand. Male to female transsexuals have found that they have been warmly embraced by the feminist movement, whose members are thinking that maybe the plurality of women to men can be increased without resorting to gendercide, which can be real messy.

Now you must get a job as a member of your new gender. Your previous job will most probably never do, as it is probably too expressive of your old lifestyle. So a change in career is definitely indicated. Those who would be men can find jobs in the construction industry. This is a real good job where you can hang out with, and do manly things with other manly men. Like burp and fart at will, complain of lower back injuries, and wonder if you’re gettin’ some from the old lady tonight.

Those who are now women will just love their new jobs as waitresses, maids, housewives and school bus drivers.

Of course, you may have to give up your Jaguar, but cars are such male things anyway. Real women drive Volkswagens, or those “Green” cars that come in all sorts of pretty colors.

GENDER REASSIGNMENT SURGERY

After awhile, you will probably want to have surgery to make your presentation as a woman (or man) more convincing, and allow you to partake of more of the wonderful pleasures that being a member of your new gender provides. Like having bad sex with a hairy, drooling slob who can’t put the remote down, ever.  Even in mid, grunting, sweaty orgasm! And guys, think of the bad sex you’ll have  with the babe of your dreams…..while she just lays there thinking about her shopping list.  Yeah, buddy!

For men that have spent a lifetime having to urinate standing up, the pleasure of being able to sit down to pee cannot be understated. And women who have had to squat all their lives report great pleasure in being able to colorfully write their name in the snow.

Our surgeon has much expertise in the area of genital reconstruction, having read several books on the subject during his last vacation to Monte Carlo. We are happy to report that he didn’t lose as much money there as he usually does.

Surgery is serious business, so please do not tell your doctor the latest jokes that you heard on the golf course while he is working. Our surgeon is distracted easily enough by the race results coming in over the radio. He’s not a very good loser, I’m afraid.

If you persist in being annoying, or make horrifying sounds like screams and such, our doctor has a mallet handy that will end all such utterances. Please avoid such demonstrations, as the mallet has spikes.

Recovery is easy, in fact, we can usually send you home almost immediately after surgery. A few hours rest in your own bed should be sufficient for most people. If you do find some unexpected problem, such as excessive bleeding or passing out, do not bother us with such trifles as we are busy helping others. If you really feel the need for some medical help later, stop by your local pharmacist, who will probably
give you a pill or something.

SUMMING UP

In short, you can be a successful transsexual in almost no time with our truly revolutionary and exciting program. Unlike conventional sex change programs, which can take over a year from start to finish we run you through the entire program in less than six weeks.

And, unlike most gender reassignment programs, which can end up costing millions, we will do it all for the amazing price of $695.95! Of course, you may wonder how we can do this all so cheaply. The answer is: volume. Our surgeon, unlike others who are so slow that they can only do one a day, can do dozens of procedures simultaneously. And we pass on the savings to you. So, take advantage of this incredible offer before those ass holes in the gender service conspiracy shut us down. You can contact us at:

The Born To Change Clinic, 2321 Estrogen Dawn Ave., Suite 101, Nutsack FL 32900.

Phone, 866 MY TURN

Email: decutter@borntochange.com

V’jayjay DeCutter, MD, and Stuff.

Black Lines and Color Fields

• Sep. 20th, 2008 at 12:30 AM

I taught art for two years in Japan. My only qualifications were having had a museum show, and knowing how to paint. I never went to art school and at that time never had any formal instruction. It didn’t matter. After my day job in uniform I was teaching color theory and painting to a class full of adult students. You might wonder how I could teach color theory without formal instruction. That’s a reasonable question. I taught myself. When I finally learned how to read the vistas opened to me were incredible. I think a lot of people take the ability to read for granted. I never have because it was so difficult to learn to see the words on a page instead of a letter wreck. I still can’t type and it takes me hours to write these bits of my life. I write them anyway because I enjoy it and I’m not ashamed of who I was or who I am now. And yeah, I’ve done a whole lot of things in my life….because that’s my nature.

Teaching myself color theory was easy. I read a ton of books and put what I read into practice. There are zillions of books on color theory. I read so many it drove me nuts. I’m not going to get into it much here….except to say I devoted myself to Josef Albers and his teaching on the use of color. Later I studied how Hans Hofmann, Franz Kline and Mark Rothko used color in their work. I went back to Mondrian and De Stijl and studied minimalist color fields as well.

Hans Hofmann, Equinox 1958  What can I say? It’s unbelievable.


Franz Kline,  Scudera 1961  …………..Eyegasm! This is poetry.

Mark Rothko, Blue Orange Red 1961   Rothko was an amazing colorist.

Finally I went to Tony Cacalano. He’s a wonderful colorist who taught me much in the very short time I spent in his company. His work looks simple. It’s anything but simple. His use of color is exquisite. I have one of his prints hanging in my kitchen. Everything I ever needed to know about the use of color is in that small print. It’s amazing.

Tony Cacalano     Good lord! Look how he used the primary colors in the flowers. I see Mondrian in the black lines and primaries.

I showed him a photograph of my blue canvas, “I’ll Be Back” one afternoon. I wanted criticism on my use of a very limited blue and red palate. When you ask an artist trained by Hans Hofmann for criticism you had better have very thick skin. Tony looked at the painting for a bit and said something that amazed me. “You have a shot kid. Don’t blow it.” That was the fall of 2001. I don’t know if I’ve blown it or not.

Canhamiana, Blue – I’ll Be Back 30 X 40, Acrylic and Collage on canvas,  2001

Teaching myself to paint was easy as well. The books I read taught me all of the technical facets of applying paint to canvas. The truth is anyone can learn the technique of painting. That means is I can teach you to be a good technician with paint and canvas. If you are an artist I can perhaps teach you to better artist and technician. I cannot teach you to be an artist. You are one or you’re not. Here’s where I get arrogant and snotty. There’s a vast difference between a well trained technician who paints, and a fine artist. A technician creates a nice painting to hang on the wall. A fine artist makes art. That comes from the soul. Regardless of the medium used the fine artist  always paints themselves. Even my hero Mondrian! Jackson Pollack explained best when he said, “When I paint, I’m in my work.” Anyway, that’s the short and simple difference. A person can spend a lifetime wallowing in the philosophy of art and never find an adequate answer.

I‘ve been sitting here for half an hour thinking about my previous paragraph. I’m going to let it stand. It’s not my intention to belittle anyone who paints or put down anyone  who experiments with color. I will say those damned stupid black lines are artificial boundaries best moved or ignored all together. Self expression begins when we allow the color fields be an extension of the heart. The heart cannot be contained within artificial boundaries defined by another.. Let the color fields define themselves and see where they go or at least define the black lines your self.. Crap. I wish I could have said to my kindergarten teacher.

I’m a fine artist but not a great one. Actually I’d say adequate with the potential to get better if I allow myself to explore myself fully. Cool, painter babble. To be honest I’m discovering just how passionate about painting I really am. When I stopped working in 2005 I just put it on a shelf and went on to something else. I took something I’ve loved my whole life and walked away from it. I don’t know why. I can give you a bucket full of excuses. The art market tanked. I was in a terrible relationship that left me wrecked for a while, blaaaa blaaaa, blaaaa. I think it was because I didn’t feel it anymore. I could make art after a fashion, but I couldn’t feet it and I couldn’t get in it. I got mad and threw it on a shelf. I threw my books and supplies in boxes and put them on a shelf too. But I never threw them away.

Three moves later and I still have that stuff with me with the exception of my easel. That old thing was trashed and needed replacing anyway. I even managed to drag a pair of large stretched and ready to work canvases with me and the stretchers for another one. Oh I feel it again too. I have been feeling it for a while now and I’m remembering the smell of acrylic artist colors and medium. I’m kind of a freak for rusty metal and I found a treasure trove at the nursery. I found it last year and thought..Hmmmmm, what could I do with that? Then I ignored it until the other day when I had to collect it and clean the dirt and crud from it. It’s out there all clean and dry waiting for me to use some of it in a painting. Trust me that work will begin soon. My tiny apartment is an inadequate studio space but it will have to do for now. I think it’s time to get back to doing what I’m supposed to be doing….making art.

• Location:The Canhamianaverse
• Mood: peaceful
• Music:General Public, I’ll Take You There

Cutie Pie Canadian Customs Inspectors

• Sep. 23rd, 2008 at 12:02 AM

I’m going to tell you a Blondie story.

I met her at an art show and we’ll leave it at that. After some time, a few phone calls and logistical screwing around I found myself in a relationship with the Blonde. Despite the disastrous nature of that relationship as well as my sincere desire to never see or speak to her again, I will say that the Blonde is the most creative person I have ever met. She could make art out of almost anything and do it successfully. The only thing she could not do is paint. That used to frustrate her to no end. Every time she approached canvas with paint and tried to define a color field with her brush, the result was a disaster thrown on the studio floor. The fact that Blondie couldn’t use color was a source of enormous satisfaction for me. I could do one thing she couldn’t and it was all mine. That was important because that awful relationship swallowed me whole and left me emotionally wasted by the time I managed the courage to leave her. I don’t hate her and I don’t wish her ill will. She’s just toxic and best kept at a distance of at least ten miles or greater.

I didn’t listen to her unsolicited, often mean almost always ugly criticisms of my work. Her opinion didn’t matter. I learned early to keep from criticizing her sculpture even when solicited. When I was honest the result would be anger and the silent treatment. Sometimes it lasted for days. Her record was 8 days of silence and pretending I didn’t exist.

The record 8 days of silence began at an art show in Illinois. I was with Blondie in her booth talking to an older woman and her husband about a piece of sculpture they were interested in. Blondie was working with someone else and not paying attention to what I was doing. After I sold the sculpture to the couple and they were on their way out of the booth the woman turned around and came back. I won’t forget this either….she looked at me and said, “I just wanted you to know how much I admire your courage. I would never let my husband go out in public like that.” She flicked her head toward Blondie and then gave me a hug. I used to offer prayers a lot when I was with Blondie. I prayed she didn’t hear what the woman said to me. The booth was full of people and she acted as she always did when we were at a busy show selling art.

I thought I’d dodged a Blondie bullet……no such luck. As soon as the booth cleared she detonated. It was always my fault when she got “read” or clocked” as we say. She yelled at me and told me she wouldn’t get read if I wasn’t such a Barbie all the time. Me a Barbie, I think not! The truth is, Blondie got read all the time and it had nothing to do with me. That’s not how she saw it. It was my fault and I deliberately did things to call attention to her so she’d get read. After she yelled she shoved her way past me and didn’t speak to me for 8 days.

Blondie responded positively to only one piece I made. A small 18 X 24 inch mixed media work titled 4208 South Pennsylvania Ave. So titled because that’s where I made it, in the basement of her former mother in law’s house in Milwaukee. It’s dark and brooding and kind of “musty”…like the basement. I was experimenting with limited pallets at that time. In this case it was black, white, ultramarine blue, cadmium red deep, and burnt umber. I was also working to further develop my skills as a colorist. A limited palate was a challenge and I enjoyed playing with it. There were no instant rescues from yellow, cobalt blue or another red when I painted myself into the corner of a bad color field. The idea was to pull the correction out of myself instead of my paint box. I suppose it was also a part of my early flirtations with Minimalist influences and their philosophy of “Less is more”.

We had a few days off and Milwaukee was our summer season jumping off point for our northern tier shows. We stayed in the house and worked. While Blondie made her sculpture I made 4208 using the top of a washer as a work table. I like the piece but she loved it. Blondie was also right when she said it was my sure award winner. Crap! It was the smallest piece I’d made in years. I preferred to work on large grounds with heavy texturing using cardboard soaked almost mushy in the tub so I could push, rip, mash and twist it into the texture and topography I desired. I also liked to use pieces of rusted metal and masonry nails. 4208 has all of that only it’s small and it was an award winner. I never offered it for sale. I have it hanging in my living room and it is one of my favorite pieces.

Canhamiana  4208 South Pennsylvania Ave. 2002
18 X 24 inches Acrylic, collage and rusted nails on board.

Back to the Blondie story….After we finished our next shows in Rochester, NY, we took a two week vacation to the Canadian Rockies. What a trip that was. We cruised west across the northern states toward Montana. Our plan was to stop and visit my baby sister in Helena before heading north to Glacier National Park and then crossing into Canada. Blondie and my sister got along great. Blondie also helped install a front door and fix the motor on an old truck. Blondie was a chameleon. She could be anything to anyone and endeared herself to my sister and her husband. We spent the night and left for the park after we unloaded our art show equipment from the van. My sister agreed to store our booths and supplies in her barn until we returned in a week.

Blondie was not an addict. An eighth ounce of pot would normally last her for months and a small bag of mushrooms would last well over a year. She was in possession of both when we arrived at my sister’s house. I asked Blondie to please leave her dope in Montana. I didn’t want to get caught crossing an international border with illegal drugs in the van. Even if it was Canada, Ha!

On the morning we left she assured me she packed her dope in a box of art supplies left in my sister’s barn. Oh yeah, you can see where this is going, right? We went through one of those small customs stations….without stopping. Well, not stopping right away. Apparently she didn’t see the flashing red light or the large “STOP” sign. Cars were supposed to stop and do the standard customs interview through the window…like a standard drive through. Blondie stopped half way through and backed up to the customs window. She quickly pulled out her silly, “Oops, (giggle) I’m a blonde” routine but it had no effect on the female border guard. We were told to pull into the inspection station. No biggie. I’d been through this a million times in my trips to Sarnia and Windsor from Michigan. Canadian border guards are always ridiculously polite, friendly and professional. They are a direct contrast to the guards on the US side who are like starved pit bulls waiting for the opportunity to rip the guts out of any US citizen returning home. I never did understand that.

We were greeted by a typical ridiculously polite, friendly and professional cutie pie of a Canadian customs inspector. We were told to remain n the van until told otherwise. Cutie Pie went to Blondie’s side first and hade her open the van door. He asked to inspect her purse and its contents. After looking in her bag he told her to go wait on the bench he was pointing to. I handed Cutie Pie my hand bag and he looked at me and asked if I was sure it was ok if he looked inside. I told him to have fun, I had nothing to hide. After playing around in my purse he gave it back to me and told me to go wait with Blondie.

In a short while three other inspectors came out wearing latex gloves and entered the van. Cutie Pie came out and was ridiculously polite, friendly and professional when he asked for our ID’s. Off he went with our ID’s to consult a data base or two. It was at this point I began to wish I still had my diplomatic passport from my days in the AF.

The Van was a standard conversion type with all kinds of nooks and crannies for the inspectors to explore and mine for contraband. I expected them to take a while in their thorough efforts to find nothing of interest so I just leaned back on the bench and let the cool Canadian breeze blow my hair into a tangled mess.

As soon as I got comfortable two things happened, OK, three things happened: First, Cutie Pie came back out and handed me back my ID with a smile and a thank you. He was holding a small bunch of papers and turned to Blondie and began interviewing her on previous names and aliases she had used, where she’d lived etc. He went back inside without returning her ID, but he was ridiculously polite, friendly and professional. Second, an inspector came out of the van and rushed into the station. I figured she had to pee or something. I was wrong; she came back out with two more inspectors putting on latex gloves and returned to the van. The third thing that happened was Blondie leaning over to me and saying, “If they find my stuff, I’m really sorry.”

If my heart could have jumped higher than 12 feet out of my chest it would have, but there was a roof in the way. It bounced off the roof and flopped back into my chest beating madly. I looked at her with my, I thought you told me….expression and she said, “I lied”. Great, I don’t drink or do illegal drugs and my partner here who hardly ever uses any of that shit decides she can’t live without it for our trip into Canada. Right then I was feeling like the luckiest girl on the planet because if they found her dope I was going to jail too. Pot would be bad enough….but mushrooms!!!! Oh My God! Let’s see, she was post op so her jail experience would be somewhat less interesting than mine would be. Lucky her…..I couldn’t believe she would be so selfish as to place my freedom, health, and possibly life in jeopardy over a less than an eighth ounce of weed and a few grams of mushrooms. I got mad, way scared, I kept my mouth shut and I prayed. Oh, I was really wishing for that passport too.

The next 15 minutes were the longest in my life. From the bench I could see under the van. It was awful watching customs inspector feet move around on the other side of the van by the side doors. Cutie Pie came back out and went over to the van for a consult with the other inspectors. Soon they all came around and headed back into the station. I was waiting for the police and a pair of cuffs….A few minutes later Cutie Pie came back out and handed Blondie back her ID and was ridiculously polite, friendly and professional in wishing us a nice stay in Canada.

It was beautiful. At one point along the trip I saw a Golden Eagle fly across the road we were stopped on and land in a tree on a branch not 40 yards from van. It sat on that branch huge and beautiful I and got all excited about it. How often do you get to see a Golden Eagle? Blondie did not share my excitement as she was taking part in a quick bowl with a German couple she picked up hitchhiking. Oh well…..they got stoned and I got to see the eagle. Trust me; the eagle was a better high. That was how the trip went. I played with nature, and walked on a glacier. Blondie got stoned and played with people she gave rides to.

On the day we were leaving to go back to Montana She assured me the dope was all gone and I had nothing to worry about. She also repeated that she was sorry for the scare back at the border. When we got to US customs the trip through was uneventful and I was very relieved. I was back in the US and on the long way home instead of sitting in a jail cell in Podunk Montana with a drug charge. A few miles away from customs Blondie pulled a bud out of her purse and lit it up. I couldn’t believe it. I started to say something when she looked at me and said, “I lied again. What did you expect?” That was my life with Blondie.

• Location:Safe at home
• Mood: amused
• Music:The soundtrack to Pollack