Madame President

When I tell people that I was born outside of the United States, about one-third of the people usually point out that I could never be President.

Really? My reckless youth, littered with drugs, alcohol and a short stint in a paegan community, isn't gonna be political fodder? And don't let a little thing, like, void of proper education and experience be a deal breaker. No people. I'm pretty sure my complete LACK of desire to be President is what's gonna keep me from being President of the United States. It's just convenient that I technically can't.

Which leads me to 3 weeks ago. The Orchestra's Board of Directors was up for a vote. 3 of the 6 members had to step down and 3 new members would be voted on. I saw it as my chance to avenge my birth-abroad status. I didn't know at the time when I nominated myself (oh that's right people - I nominated myself. My stand partner, Amber, said she would have herself, but I couldn't contain the excitement) that I was going to be the next President of the Kansas City Kansas Community Orchestra.... but here I am!

Madame President if you please.

President Natasha.

Reverend President Natasha.

Our Fall concert is THIS Thursday (October 27th) @ 7pm. Come and support me and my "dork"estra buddies.

Sabrina snapped this pic at our Spring concert.... and... apparently I play with my mouth open.

The Spanish Inquisition

Conversation at the coffee shop on Sunday.

Guy: Great Hair.

Me: Thanks!

Guy: You Spanish?

Me: Nope.

Guy: You Sure.

Me: Yup.

I just walked away. Was he insulting my intelligence? My mother's honor? I'm still not sure.

Geography Fale

Overheard at the QT.

Dumb Girl: "Wait? Where is Australia? By England?"

Holy shit! This girl misplaced an entire CONTINENT!

Dumber Girl: "No. Australia is down."

Holy shit! This girl thinks "down" is a cardinal direction!

Over the Bridge and Through the woods...

This past Saturday I took Sammy to see Grandma. That same day also happened to be my aunt's birthday, so the convoy included me, my mom, Sammy D and my aunt Stephanie.

Upon our arrival, my grandma was tickled pink that her old boy had come for a visit. "Nelson!" she shouted at her husband, "Look who came for a visit." Glazing over her daughter the birthday girl, my grandma Alice reached for Sammy. "There's my boy!" she exclaimed, squeezing him. "Oh look he remembers me" she said as he tried desperately and vainly to escape her grip.

Something akin, I guess, to a maternal instinct washed over me and I went to loosen her choke hold on Sammy. I could tell that he was confused and a little frightened. I convinced grandma that she should let Sammy explore her room and I sat down on her bed and told her all about how we get on together. I left out the part about me blogging about his tongue.
 
"Did I ever tell you how he got his name?" she asked me.

"Well, you told me that there wasn't anything else TO name a brown-faced cat with one good eye."

"That's right."

"And also because he's Jewish, right grandma?"

I told her about the yarn and skitter critters I have for him, I shared our nightly petting and snuggle ritual. I even went as far as to proudly brag about the time when Sammy D. Jr punched a dog in the face. She laughed and told me about another time he did the same to a BIG dog at the vet. We bonded over that, I guess.

I've never been close with my Grandma Alice. She's not the nicest lady (and is also a *little* racist) and in her younger days was flat out mean. My mom is hesitant to go into much detail, but I've heard stories of my mom and her siblings being beat so bad they required a trip to the hospital. That the four of her children survived and have any sort of desire to keep a relationship with her is amazing.

And what is more amazing is that in that hard, dark, ex-alcoholic heart of hers she has the capacity to love a living thing.

I mean, LOOK at that face.