Animal Crackers and Shirley Temple

Dears,
Could you use a dose of adorableness? I thought so.
First, a review of CHOCOLATE Animal Crackers.

They appear to be either oddly formed gender neutral animals or little clumpy brown clouds. They taste like chocolate graham crackers. By this, I mean they're fairly yummy. But I'm stuck pondering why these cookies are called "crackers." Aren't crackers square wafers that taste like paper with a dash of salt? Due to my confusion, I'm ranking Chocolate Animal Crackers at a 6 on a 1-10 scale (10 being the best and 6 being "They taste good but they aren't crackers.").


Now for the adorable Shirley Temple. This clip takes us back to 1935. The endearing spitfire kept humankind's spirits lifted during harsh times. I hope she'll lift yours now too.

Take care of yourselves, day by day, moment by moment.  
Animal crackers in my soup. Lions and tigers . . .

Love to you.

The Bar Brawl

   So yeah, another day, another bar brawl. Me, a bar brawl! No worries, friends. I wasn't injured, banned from the bar, or thrown in jail. I am, however, ashamed of my behavior. Oh I'm proud too. More proud than embarrassed. And when I told Dawn (my sis) about it, she responded: "It's sort of cool to have a sister get into a bar fight! Who could have thought in the Engel family?  I call this an accomplishment." Our family's a wholesome bunch; it's a rare moment when one can associate an Engel with anything akin to a bar brawl.
    
Due to problems posting the down and dirty women's brawl, let's try this more accurate photo:

   That night, I learned Scorpio is a full-blown alcoholic who'd traded me down for Methie. I know, right? It's as though he took a sudden, everlasting bungee jump with no bounce-back-up factor. And there they sat snuggling in a booth by the stage. My ego disappeared while a medium inferno raged through my 4'8" frame.  
    "Let's dance, Robyn." Brandi nudged, distracting me. I readily agreed. When I boogie, I'm good. Great even, alive, free, in control, on top of the world. Brandi and I smiled at each other, and I did some twirling when --
   My spinal cord jolted in sync with a shrill. "By the way!" Methie shouted, having charged at me from behind, "He broke up with you after only three weeks!" She then dashed across the floor and into the women's room on the other side of the club. 
   I looked at Brandi: "That does it!"
   Seconds later, I stood facing a bathroom stall door. Seems Methie needed to pee. I let it flow too: "You're an ugly alcoholic drugged-out pothead skank, and he didn't even have the balls to break up with me. Why would he go for you? You're so ugly!" 
   Done. But not really. I marched out to Scorpio --still sitting wasted at the booth. "Your new girlfriend is out of control!"
   Scorpio grinned proudly, thrilled to defend Methie. "Well you, you leave uh-her alone!" 
   "You didn't even break up with me, and you go to HER? Why would you go for someone so ugly?"
   "Oh...y-yeah?" he fumbled. "Why would anyone go for someone so" --Scorpio pointed at me-- "ugly?" He then concluded with, "F*k off and die!"
   "Get help," I snapped and turned to find Brandi. 
   She was dancing, this time with a few friends. "Are you okay, Robyn?"
   "Yeah, a little shaken," Breathe, I told myself. A foot stomping harmonica-vocal beat enticed me the moment I caught eye of a tambourine on a nearby table. (People leave instruments around for others to use.) I picked it up. As I began gently slapping the tambourine against my upper leg, Methie's hands were locked on it.    
   "Don't you dare touch my tambourine!" She pryed it from me.  Methie placed the tambourine back on the table. She came at me again, this time sort of yanking on or grabbing my arm. It was like a toddler meagerly pulling on Mommy's sleave to say "I'm here. Be scared or maybe not."  
   I then (in self-defense, of course), extended both of my arms directly in front of me, with raised palms towards her, and forcefully pushed Methie away. Brandi jumped between us. "Stop it! Enough!"
   A cute young bouncer, not much taller than 5'2", appeared.   "Look, I didn't see what happened, but no more fighting."
   Within a minute or two, a semblance of calm resumed. But then some words rolled off my tongue loudly: "She slept with Charlie*!"
   Methie, who was now a yard or two away, as Scorpio remained seated in drunken oblivion, defended. "That's not true."
   "The whole town knows**!" I added.

   Things soon settled down. I'd run out of ammunition. Methie and Scorpio resumed their snuggle-fest. Brandi and I departed. And I'm avoiding that place. 
   There's more, but we'll stop here.

*Charlie is an alias for a well known staffer at the club. I'd learned from a friend that Methie boasted about having had a fling with him. It was golden information that just kind of slipped out. Oops.

**I tossed this in for fun, and because - thanks to me - the whole town knows now.

Inspiration, Weirdness, Scorpio and Methie

Hi, Friends,

   Throughout the world was sent a big, bold message on the side of love, fairness, and justice for everyone. It was incredibly touching, uplifting, and hopeful to be in a crowd of thousands at Chico's March for Women. Did any of you go to a March? Watch from home?  Awesome, yes? I don't have photos, but I wanted to acknowledge such a historic day before I turn to selfish, micro matters.

-----------------------------------------More Prelude to the Bar Brawl--
   You've met Scorpio. After his restless legs scurried out of my apartment to take a "break" (cuz, yeah, imagine the agony of dating me for an entire three weeks!), he ignored me completely. Nearly two months passed. Despite being hurt, I didn't reach out and figured it was for the best. I still frequented the bar where we met. Mind you, I hate the bar scene and don't drink at all. Many of my friends, though, are musicians, and there's a lively Open Mic at this bar.
   You might recall that Scorpio hardly ever drinks alcohol, or so he told me. But when I saw him on a bar stool one night in December, he was red-faced, dopey, and gulping down beers.

   both photos - google images

   Meet Methie.* Methie is missing a front tooth. Imagine Methie with said missing tooth in the exact middle (versus to one side or the other) of her mouth; 15 years older; and not nearly as pretty as the woman pictured. I'd been friendly with Methie off and on for a few years. Methie knows she's the world's greatest singer, though her voice is loud, screechy, and off-key. Methie likes men, especially men who talk to her. Methie drinks and smokes pot, like much of the community. As far as harder stuff, *let's just say that methamphetamines are known to completely destroy a person's mouth and gums.  And meth is tragically highly used in these here parts.
   Why'd I introduce you to Methie? Because after I saw drunken Scorpio, I noticed that he and Methie were talking. It appeared they'd already become acquainted.
   My friend Brandi and I sat at a table midway between the bar and the stage. 
   Minutes later, Methie casually approached us. "Hi Methie," I said, "so you were talking to my ex."
   "I know, but he said you're not dating anymore Robyn. We're just talking, we both like hiking, Is that okay?" --Methie's speech rate increased, and she talked in weirdly spiraled contradictions that allowed no room for my response-- "we're only talking Robyn, we're going hiking, we both like to hike, we've been hanging out for three weeks, we're only friends. I'm so sorry. Is it okay?" Her face contorted into an expression of: I'm getting some and you're not but I'm pretending to care about you.
   "Well no, Methie, it's awkward. You don't date a friend's ex, girl code. That's dis--"
   Methie interrupted with a shout: "I didn't know you were dating until recently! We both like hiking. That's all. Okay, I won't hang out with him. I respect you too much." Methie nodded, as if she'd convinced herself. She then rushed over to drunken Scorpio at the bar. Next thing I saw was Methie with her arm around drunken Scorpio's shoulder. She escorted him to a booth a few yards from us, and within direct eye shot, one foot from the stage. There, they sat snuggly, as if about to perform for me. Blood pounded through my veins. I was hurt, perplexed, enraged.
    Brandi turned to me, "Wait, Robyn, you were friends before, right?"
    "Well, yeah, not good friends, but we were friendly."
    "That's wrong of her. And Robyn," Brandi extended her neck to take a hard look at Methie, "Good Lord, you're way cuter! And at least you have all your teeth!"     -to be continued.