Who do you think you are?

Throughout the course of my formative teenage years my mother's favorite question was, "Who the hell do you think you are?" How exactly is one meant to respond to that?  Furthermore, was I really supposed to know? Failed attempts at answering resulted in a variety of responses. Among them: my being sent to my room (or running for cover, it's all about perspective), being grounded, her telling my dad, my phone privileges being revoked and once ended with a vintage, ten pound iron sticking out of the wall. My cat-like reflexes prevented bodily harm. I was a smart ass. Through the eyes of the mother I now am, I see how I could have single-handedly driven her to the brink of insanity. Genetics, a chemical imbalance, substance abuse and  poor planning helped her complete the trip after I left home.

As a grown woman I am far more sure of myself. I think I have a pretty firm grip on who I am, what's important to me, what makes me tick. She doesn't ask anymore but if she did this is what I would say,
"I don't know it all, like you said I thought I did, but these twenty-five things I know to be true. They may not define me as a whole but being a sum of all of my parts, it's a good start."

(In no particular order)


1. I don't believe in coincidences, everything happens for a reason.

2. I have a lifelong secret crush on Kenny Rogers. I can sing "The Gambler" by heart. "You never count yer money when yer sittin' at the table...they'll be time enough for countin' when the dealin's done..." Okay, stop laughing. I also know "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" and "Sweet Home Alabama."

3. There is a good reason I was a dancer and not a singer.

4. The last birthday present my Daddy bought me was a guitar. I promised him I'd learn to play it.

5. If I were a doll my accessories would be: a yoga mat, a pair of fairy wings and a can of "kick ass."

6. My sweet-souled sister has been my best friend our whole lives. Jaime is an inspiration and all round quality human being. I adore her and miss her beyond words.

7. I have unfinished business with a few people in my life, amends to be made, truths to be told, responsibility to be taken. I am a work in progress.

8. Being a good mother is an enormous responsibility I take very seriously. My children inspire and humble me every day. I would fight a Grizzly bear for them...and win.

9. Nine is my lucky number.

10. I don't own a cat, she owns me. She sleeps with my sweet baby Jake every night. I have a dog that owns me too. I didn't really even like dogs with the exception of my snorting, wheezing, farting, dearly departed Pomeranian, "Emily." (May she rest in peace.) but somehow Coco, my chocolate lab has endeared her eighty five pound ass to me to the extent that I no longer find myself threatening a rehoming. I can't imagine not tripping over her while trying to cook dinner. She's a crafty one, that Coco.

11. I'd rather be Velma than Daphne.

12. I am not short. I am not petite. I am "fun sized" dammit. In a parallel universe I am 5'10" and built like Wonder Woman. I had a roommate like that once upon a time. I miss her.

13. I am writing a book about a really crazy time in my life and hoping the proceeds will spring me from the middle of this corn field.

14. I left my heart in San Francisco and will always call "the city" my home.

15. The first time I ate Wasabi I thought it was avocado and being with a kitchen full of people I thought were WAY cooler than I was I choked it down rather than look like an ass. I was going on "better to just appear like a dork than open my mouth and prove it." Eventually, they all knew me for what I was, takes one to know one...you may have been there.

16. I taught myself to crochet. Now I'm working on peeing standing up. JUST kidding.

17. Sometimes people tell me I'm funny. That's good, right?

18. I am married to a man who really knows me...and still loves me. I had the word "Angel" inscribed inside his wedding band because I truly believe he saved me, more than once.

19. I'm a joker, a stroker and a midnight toker.

20. If I ever run away I'm going to become a lavender farmer who raises miniature goats.

21. When I am lucky enough to catch the opening of "Ellen" I ALWAYS dance with her.

22. I have seen a full rainbow over Mt. Fugi from the bullet train.

23. I know what pride tastes like.

24. I make a mean meatloaf, drink the juice left in the pickle jar and recycle everything I possibly can.

25. I am well rounded. If you need proof just look at my ass.

From my Toes to Yo's...

Disclaimer: This is a recycled post.

So.

So, so, suck my toe, all the way to Mexico!

I gave it to ya once and it was so good I'm gonna give it to ya again. I'm calling it "re-gifted." Feel free to pass it along, re-wrapped, of course. Here goes...



It was recently brought to my attention that I post an unusual amount of photos of my feet on Facebook.

Yeah, what about it? You judging me? I'll own it.

It was then brought to my attention there are certain websites that cater to this sort of fetish.
"You should look into cashing in on those tootsies."
I actually thought about it, for an exorbitantly long amount of time too. I even tried to talk them  (My feet, that is. Come on now, keep up.) into it with the promise of new shoes. Pretty shoes. Sparkly ones. Heck, I woulda thrown in a spa pedi too. It was a no go.

"Ix-na on the oot-fa etish-fa imping-pa itch-ba!"

Yeah, they speak Pig Latin when they're really pissed. I hung my head with the shame no real pimp could ever feel. Guess I'm not that kinda playa, anymore. So, to make it up to them (Yes, my feet. You gotta stay with me, I can't drag you along.) I channeled my love into an ode and this is how it goes...


Ode to My Toes

Your feet, your feet, again your feet,

Is it a foot fetish or voyeuristic treat?
What’s your trip? What’s your deal?

Are you some kind of freak?

Or…are you for real?

Tell me, tell me, tell me right now

I’ve got to know, I’ve got the time

Make it fun, entertain me,

In the form of a rhythm…

I tilted my head and I grinned

Gave the smile with the dimple,

Cleared my throat, then I winked

I was ready to begin…

My justification for my fascination

Is really a form of appreciation.

For my feet that you mention, it is my intention

To call out by name

What is worthy of attention.

So sit back and relax let’s have a good time,

Let the clock tick and let the clock tock,

Put your own dogs up I’m gonna walk my talk.

With my head in the clouds and my feet on the ground,

It was time to convey what I wanted to say.

I closed my eyes, bowed my head, took a deep breathe and I prayed,

"This little ditty needs to be quite witty in the most amazing way."

‘Ode To My Toes’ was born on the spot,

I’d thought of it all and it was actually quite a lot.

My feet, my feet, they are so sweet,

I love them more than anyone you’ll ever meet.

They are at their most basic, not so much an inspiration,

But rather just my form of transportation.

It’s the things we have done, the places we have seen,

The people we’ve met and everything in-between,

That warrants my admiration, in consideration, of

All the miles we’ve logged and the road ahead,

Where we want to be barefooted and free.

                                                      

Me and my feet, you’re in for a treat

We’ve….

Kicked a ball, kicked some ass,

Raked the leaves and mowed the grass.

We’ve backslid and we’ve progressed,

Been photographed as evidence.

We’ve tested the waters, skated on thin ice,

Taken a wrong turn once or twice.

We’ve stepped out of the way and been stepped on,

My poor second toe hasn’t been right since.

We’ve tip-toed through the tulips, stepped in shit,

Eased on down the road and balanced a fence.

We’ve taken the high road, the low road,

come to the fork in the road, a crossroads

and chosen the path of least resistance.

We’ve done the right things, taken the easy way out,

Stopped on a dime and wandered about.

We’ve been there, we’ve done that,

Gone to the point of no return and yet… we found our way back

They’ve been soaked and scrubbed and rubbed down,

Painted, polished, filed square or filed round.

We’ve kick boxed and step-classed, cycled and spinned,

Piliated, viyassed, and samadhi’ed within,

But these are just a few of the places we’ve been.

We’ve gotten into trouble, gotten out of a pinch,

Made quick like little bunnies, looked at the stars from a ditch.

My toes, my toes, heaven knows,

We get cold as ice when winter snows.

(And that really fucking blows)

We’ve worn heels, flats, boots and everything in-between,

Some of the most amazing shoes I’ve ever seen.

From the Payless pumps to the Christian Loubotain’s,

From the Ugg’s to the flip flops, this list just began.

The five inch platforms with the mirrored heel,

On the catwalk or the sidewalk, yeah baby, we’re the real deal.

We’ve rocked and we’ve rolled on a dance floor,

Bikini small, heels tall, there are no angels in the centerfold.

We’ve got our groove on, we’ve gotten into the groove,

Music is an aphrodisiac, it makes my feet want to move.

We’ve hop, skipped and wiggled, we’ve shimmied and shaked,

We’ve escaped the Yakuza and survived an earthquake.

You might think this is it but don’t think you’re right,

The list of mischief could go on all night.

You still with me? You want to hear more?

Or should these honored feet of mine take me right out the door?

No? Oh good, I shall go on for sure…

We’ve been buried in sand on four different continents,

Pointed and flexed as I’ve stretched for a kiss.

We’ve walked down the aisle and been up all night,

Paced floors with my children, "Hush sweet prince, it is all alright."

We’ve jumped for joy, knelt in despair, and spun circles in the grass without a care.

We’ve jaywalked and cross-walked, ran like a bat out of hell,

With a prayer on my lips, "Please, please feet don’t fail me now."

We’ve been high class, we’re down home,

These dogs of mine have been all over the globe,

From the mountains of Alaska to the beaches of Jamaica,

"Respect mon, leave more than ya take-a."

From the pig farm in Japan, to the deserts of Saudi,

Me and my feet, one restless soul, one pixie-esque body.

So you see, for me, these aren't "just" my feet,

They are my constant companions for each day we greet.

The same is certain for yours too,

Think about it and you'll find it's true.

Your second verse isn't the same as my first,

It may be better, it may be worse.

You and your feet have a story of your own,

Knick knack, patty whack, give your dogs a bone.

Your feet will always... find their way home.

I'm baaack! Don't say you haven't been warned.

Guess who's back? Back again. Dani's back, tell a friend. Guess who's back? Guess who's back? Guess who's back...

(Fist pump and knuckle bump to the 8 mile trailer park kid done good. Love ya Rabbit.)

Did ya miss me? No? Awww, not the answer I was looking for. Wanna try again? This time with a little more feeling? I'll wait... Okay, not fair, I know. You couldn't miss me cause you didn't know I was gone. Truth be told, no one even knew I was here. 

You see, I'm writing a book and as every well informed unpublished author knows, you need a web presence. I started querying prospective agents for my book project and had a fairly amazing response in requests for reading a partial. Then, like a novice rapper at a mic I choked. I questioned every word I wrote, every line I spoke and this lil blog here was likened to a red-headed step-child that still wets her pants and picks her nose. I didn't want a prospective agent stumbling upon it and thinking for one moment that it was representative of the highest quality product I could produce. I mean sheesh, most of it was written here because Facebook doesn't give me enough available characters in my status updates. Damn them. I am not above a soap box style lecture to prove a point but let it be known that I only stand on that soap box because I am petite. No, not short. Petite dammit! Fun-sized, more accurately. Never known for my brevity I can be talk for days and there are times that a long-winded dissertation actually IS called for. I figure if I can't wear you down then I can wear you out and you'll surrender just so I will shut the eff up. I won't. Point being, I took down every post except for the little ditty about the county fair below. I figured it was a nice vanilla contrast to the hedonistic adventures of a "Hot Child in the City" who lived for almost decade as right hand woman-child to Dionysus. For the record, he's a leftie.

F.Y.I, I am still without a literary agent so if you happen to have one just laying around doing nothing please, please, please let me know. They are becoming notoriously lazy bastards now that e-books outsell print on Amazon. Hey slackers, some of us still want to smell the pages and last I checked my monitor here wasn't a freakin' scratch and sniff.

So, welcome to my party. Stay a while, or at least bookmark me so when have to leave you can find your way back. And you will want to come back, trust me. I'm going to knick-knack-paddy-whack throw you a couple of bones in the form of a few more posts after this one. I'm a giver, what can I say? Yes, you're welcome. I'm big on manners too so feel free to leave a thank you note for both my generosity and hospitality in the form of a comment below. You bookmark me yet? Whatcha waiting for? I'll wait...
How about just in case, you run and grab a Sharpie and write my info on your arm, or your leg, or your forehead if need be. I don't want to have to come looking for you, but I will if I have to. Don't say you haven't been warned...