I’d only just posted the previous blog entry when I started putting away laundry. I was starting to clear away jewelry that had been strewn across the top of my dresser, when I went into a sudden cleaning frenzy and thought, “I’ll bet there’s stuff in my jewelry box I could stand to get rid of…” (Read: rainbow “candy” necklaces and bracelets from my raving days when I was going under the pseudonym “Venus”… don’t ask.)
I started going through the chambers and, lo and behold, there was a small pile of charms that never made it to anything larger, including one that my mother had purchased for me eight summers ago in Yellowstone. A Navajo bear, that I would absolutely have picked out for myself if she hadn’t given it to me for Christmas.
… Thanks, Universe.
Rad! I think you should write about your raver days, if you’re willing to share. I love hearing about that stuff. I had a brief raver period long after the “candyraver” phenomenon was just sort of a joke. I did, however, go to a pretty posh (read: yuppie) nightclub to hear one of the world’s biggest DJs (cue jerking off hand motion, snort)…dressed in orange and purple wide-legged pants, an orange furry bikini top, and goggles on my head. Oy.