I like pink. I do...vibrant pink perferably. The light pastels have never been my style. Igo for the lucisous deeper colors. The walls of my mini kasteel are pink. I tell that to folks and they get this wierd look...like oh, poor tacky girl. But than they arrive and it has this sort of uplifting feel. It's fun and silly. I like it.

Anyway, the pink sugar is from the Madonna Inn. Which, I have to say, is crazy cool. Each room is wildly, thematically crazy. Mine was Dot and Daisy...and, you guessed it, was filled with dots and flowers. I have pictures, but we will get there soon enough.

I recently took a dream roadtrip in my precious no so little convertable up and down California. I took pictures and did great things. My intention is to write about my adventures...and give a good list of fun things to do.

Tomorrow...Solvang, Cambria and Ragged Point!

I do feel compelled to add to the words below that I am going to be 30 in a few weeks. Do I ever have to stop calling myself a girl. Sometimes woman works, but in moments like these...I feel mostly like a girl. In all good ways of course.

Men don't dance with their hands above their heads...well, straight men don't. Gay men sometimes do. Their range of motion is bigger as I guess the fear of being called gay is gone and they can reclaim the movement of their bodies. But straight men arms may go as far as their shoulders, with the exception of the raised fist of the "oh yeah" or whatever it is they are saying. But that is not really dancing. I was at a Ratdog show recently, where every dances. And the men where grooving...but most with their arms down low. One guy was grooving out, arms everywhere, but I would bet my bippy he was tripping his face off.

This is just one of many things that makes me glad to be a girl...dancing with my hands above my head, in my hair, at my side, in the air...wherever the music deems to take them. A full range of motion.

Life is good.