Ballerinas and Taxidermists

This weekend D and I went to Portland for a little culture and arts-viewing, aka The Ballet. She chose Giselle because her ballet school performed it last summer and she wanted to see it performed by professionals, Oregon Ballet Theatre to be exact. It was beautiful and the sets and costumes (from Florence, Italy) were absolutely incredible and she almost cried numerous times because she's been out of ballet for a while due to her super-fun illness. It was packed because I don't pay attention to actual dates and hadn't realized I got tickets for opening night. But it was really, truly wonderful and if you have a chance to go, you should. (Just make sure you really remember to turn your cell phone off or some redneck loud-clapper will make snotty comments while continuing to talk throughout the entire performance. Don't ask me how I know this.)

I saw my friend Mel who I hadn't seen since she moved to Portlandia. She lives on a houseboat so we had a little adventure. I was hoping we'd be rocked to sleep, but it stood still like a real house. Although it is not a house I could ever be drunk in because the walkway to the house is very slippery and the stairs are open on one side and the loft has no protective wall or railing and the washing machine is in the garage, which on a river means it is on water. I didn't even dare to test this theory. We met her new Rottweiler puppy who I almost stole until she chewed the heel on my pretty shoe. I knew then that she wasn't a member of our family; my dogs have always known better.

Our biggest adventure was the store she told us about with stuffed animals. As in taxidermied animals. I was beyond excited to go there. Ever since seeing Dinner for Schmucks I have been obsessed with the idea of having my own little mouse diorama. D and I discussed getting one for each of us and naming them Harry and Sally or Thelma and Louise or Milo and Otis, depending on what their sexes were. I was literally squealing with excitement in the car on the way to the shop.

We walked in and the first things I saw were educational books and gross little piles of dirt wrapped in foil that turned out to be excrement from owls and other meat-eating birds with little skeletons and shit. Really, it was shit. And so booooring. And then I saw them. Little taxidermied mice. White ones and brown ones. There was a little circus ringleader complete with top hat. There was a punk rocker with a purple mohawk. There was a tiny Pope mouse. They even had a tiny flying angel mouse with white wings!!! In the middle of doing my little happy dance, I saw the price tags. $90. $110. What? Are you kidding me? A hundred bucks for a fucking dead animal??? I was crestfallen. Heartbroken. One does not have the luxury of spending $100 on a dead animal when one is living on unemployment. Oh, the sadness.

I tried to pacify myself with other delights. A beautiful butterfly? Too pedestrian. A tiny turtle enclosed in an acrylic case? Not furry enough. A taxidermied flying bat? Nope. Still too much moolah. How about a little alligator head? Where on earth would I put that thing? I left with nothing; D got a peacock feather. Yippee skippee.

I bought popcorn and candy and chocolate for the ride home to console myself. My obsession continues....