Thanksgiving Dinner was at L and T's place this year. I brought homemade whipped sweet potatoes and brussels sprouts heavy with butter, the southern way. We had a table full of food. Green bean casserole. Stuffing. Turkey. Tofurkey. Gravy. Roasted carrots, potatoes, onions. Mashed potatoes. Macaroni and cheese. Corn bread. My sweet potatoes and brussels sprouts. Deviled eggs. Crackers and cranberry goat cheese. Strawberry and rhubarb pie. Lemon meringue pie. Bottles of wine. Champagne. Cocktails. I was stuffed to the brim with food and drinks. There were about 12 people sitting around the table with a vase of roses in the center celebrating Thanksgiving. I felt gratitude for having so much food and so much laughter on this night. People gathered outside after dinner to smoke cigarettes. I wondered about next year, about where this path I'm on will lead me, and whether or not I might have someone special to bring to Thanksgiving Dinner in 2010. I hope that your Thanksgiving was a warm one.

I'm thankful for believing in myself, possessing emotional strength, daring to place myself out there, and continuing to pursue my dreams. I'm also thankful for my friends, my cat, my house.

Between now and next November I would like to write my novel. That is the most ambitious goal of the year. Time starts NOW.

Observations.

-Men can tell looking into my eyes regardless of what I'm wearing or not wearing that I'm not a stripper. I can fool absolutely no one. I heard: "I want you to know that you're not a piece of meat, you're far more than that.... You look like the girl next door.... I can tell you're not a stripper. You don't have a hard look...." Some customers declined a private dance telling me I'm too pretty. It pains them to treat me like a stripper, which is interesting, since we are in a strip club and I am playing the role of 'stripper.' This is somewhat bad for my business, however, I know that the men I dance for are ones that have respect for me. I feel that there is an untouchable element about me that I can't shake off, and it might be good news for warding off the jerks.

-Men were literally throwing their money at me when I was on stage. I have learned some moves from watching the other dancers. I actually started to ENJOY myself this time, rolling around on stage like an exotic creature, reveling in the spot light. I really got into it, feeling more comfortable and confident. I still have much to learn. I still feel a bit ridiculous at times. I almost tripped over my high heels. "

-When I'm dancing, I'm imagining that I'm dancing for J, and then it feels exciting.

-I liked the night dancers more.

-I like being around women.

-Last night, I got to entertain two younger men in the VIP room. They acted like they had a crush on me, which was endearing. They ordered a bottle of champagne and appetizers, and paid me for several dances afterwards, slipping a $100 bill into my garter belt. I enjoyed spending an hour with them drinking champagne and eating food. I felt treated like a princess, sitting in the middle of these two in a candle lit booth, dressed up in my sexy lingerie. They know the real story about how I came to be working at this place.

-I gave a private dance to a teacher in his thirties, and I think he got off on the fact that I have a master's degree in English. I felt a bit scandalous getting into his lap.

-The poet could not afford a dance but wanted to give me a dance with his fingers. He traced circles on my hand with my eyes closed to an entire song. It was actually pretty hot, especially when he mixed in naughty words.

-I will be able to pay rent this month. I have a job and for that I'm grateful.

Bothered.

Today marks a year and a half since the falling out with J, one of my best friends. I loved loved loved her. Margaret Atwood has commented that female friendships are always shifting and changing. New alliances are continually being formed and old ones left behind. Your best friend today could be your enemy the next day. I wrote and published a poetry book to give to her as a gift this year, not that I expected us to suddenly become friends again overnight, but I wanted to do something entirely unique for her, something that no one else in the world would perhaps ever give her. It was my love in the form of a poetry book. To date, she has never acknowledged it and I have to wonder if she ever read it. It did break my heart into a few pieces this summer! I worked so hard on that collection. I poured my heart and soul into those pages. I had hoped that she would have some grand revelation about me and realize she does not want to lose me. Who was I fooling? I'm idealistic, sometimes too giving, and willing to get burned if I believe it is worth the pain. I told her exactly how I feel about her inside the cover of that book. I was symbolically telling myself to let go of that relationship through sending off the book across state lines. It just feels so hard to face that someone I used to be great friends with would actually never want to hear from me again. It's like, seriously? You really don't want to have me in your life? We cannot work out those issues? Wow. I must be such a bitch for writing a book of poetry and dedicating it to her. I feel that I've done relatively well with letting go, but memories of her have been resurfacing this week, and I admit that I have not totally let go. It has only been a year and a half. I might need another year to exorcise her from my life. I don't know if I can ever forget? I have an infinite memory that retains everything, every word, every moment, every emotion. I'm haunted for that reason. I remember how she made me feel. I remember our conversations. I remember holding hands. I remember how we would write each other almost every day at work. I remember that bouquet of flowers she sent to my office to surprise me. I remember her gorgeous smile that would always make me indescribably happy upon seeing it. I remember her amazing energy that I always wanted to be around and never leave. I remember the other gifts she gave me. I remember her telling me how much she loves me. I made some mistakes in that friendship and we had a falling out. But I feel that I was mentally fucked with for the year and a half we were friends. My therapist said we had an emotional affair, that our friendship was far beyond a platonic relationship, that we acted more like lesbian lovers than friends. I find it difficult to not give any thought to her when she is someone who lavished me with attention, gifts, and love for that length of time. I don't know what else to do but allow myself to feel whatever I feel and not resist it. I'm not over it yet. I'm simply not. I can't pretend that I am.

To work tonight or not to work? 'Tis the question. I feel like I need the day to mentally prepare for tomorrow. I'm planning on working four nights this week, which makes this work somewhat endurable. I strangely like the thought of getting back on stage and swinging around that pole with high heels. I'm sure it will be a passing desire. On my list is returning to that lingerie store down south. I need more costume pieces. Think: thigh high fishnets, lacey undergarments, and slips. I intend to make performance fun. I wish now I had never gotten rid of my old lingerie. I wonder if other people do the same after their breakups?

Some good news is I'm going to be waitressing every Saturday at a breakfast place to earn extra money. I was offered the weekend gig today. Whatever work I'm partaking in during the week in the coming months, I've got this stable waitressing job. Their buttermilk pancakes, I might add, looked heavenly, which brings me back to the subject of food. I've been eating left and right these past two days, sucking in everything in sight. I could spend the day eating....

For Thanksgiving this year I'm going to a friend's home and bringing a pumpkin risotto. I'm creating a whole family among my friends.

The Story

As a friend said to me "It's a job. Be grateful you have one." Today, I'm recovering. I'm not working. I'm resting and treated myself to an Indian feast. I feel mentally and physically exhausted.

So you want to know what happened yesterday? In the great state of Texas, I learned that it is illegal for a woman to enter a strip club without being escorted by a man. What year is this, 1956? It is also illegal to dance in underwear that has not been approved by the TABC. I had to buy a "legal thong" from a specialty lingerie store across from a Walmart. The costume I decided on for my first day was a "legal" black thong (translates to double lined), black demi bra, this sexy sheer black lace piece that acted as a mini dress over the thong, and my vintage black high heels. I was aiming for a Victoria's Secret Catalog look. I bought shiny pink lip gloss and decorated my eyes with black liner and mascara. I'm a classy stripper, you know....

I had to meet with the manager when I arrived dressed in regular street clothes. He is an older overweight man with silver hair and a faux diamond earring. He looks like he could be in the mafia. He had me get dressed into my "costume" first in the locker room and had me then come to his office to sign tax forms. His office was shady and creepy, behind the bar. I sat on the chair with legs crossed in a thong and demi bra, wondering how many women had been sitting in this chair in a thong and did they have STDs?, and he talked me through the business. There is almost always one woman pole dancing in the club and the other women have to look for men in the audience to approach. This is the main and most assured way you make money and some women earn as much as $500+ a night. What you do is approach a man and ask him if he would like some company? If he's interested in you, he will usually tell you to sit down next to him. He might ask you if you would like a drink or food, which he will order from the cocktail waitress. You have to make conversation with him and make him feel like he's the center of your attention. Flirt. Touch. Entice him into wanting a private strip tease from you. $20 per lap dance. Many men request several at a time. The manager said always make sure that he pays you after each dance, or else he might screw you over with money. There are laws regarding how close you can dance (about a foot away) and he is not allowed to touch you, aside from your hands. No breast or bottom fondling allowed. He can be thrown out for that. It is up to you in terms of how often you want to sit with men. You can take as many breaks as you please and talk to the other dancers, but you won't be making money unless you're hanging out with the customers.

Some of the women are cut-throat and hate many of the other dancers. They will compete hardcore for men and try to undercut you. I met some dancers I really liked and there was a sense of comraderie developing between us, but I met some mean women. I was more scared of the dancers than I was of the men. I think some of them have lived lives of hardship, pain, drugs, and poverty. I'm not sure yet what their stories are. You have to lock up all of your possessions in a locker because someone will surely steal from you. I kept the key around my necklace hanging between my breasts. The locker room was shabby and depressing and women eyed me up and down without saying a word. Right away I knew I would be perceived as a threat, particularly when one looked at me topless and said "You're fucking hot" and right away I tried to befriend the other women and ask for their help. Inside, I was feeling panicked and wished I could be far away from this place, wished for a regular job with a salary and benefits, a job where I could keep my pants on. I could not believe that I - we - were being paid to dance topless for men for a living. There was one dancer I personally found attractive and she stood beside me in the locker room unhooking her garter belt while giving me some tips. One woman was texting her boyfriend and asked me how to spell a few words. She did not know how to spell "obviously" and "intelligence." I found myself adding "Oh, I used to be an editor, and now, I'm a stripper." I realized then that I was putting us down a notch and tried to backtrack.

I did not see lines of coke being snorted as I had envisioned. Perhaps that went on outside on the enclosed patio. I did smell pot emanating from the patio. For a seven hours, from noon until 7 p.m., I was a prancing about in thong and heels speaking to strange men, holding their hands, listening to them tell me about their lives, and having them slip twenty dollar bills into my thong as I gave them private strip teases in front of everyone else in the club. It took me several hours actually to work up the nerve and the desire to approach customers so I only made money for about 4 hours. I had to pole dance and bend down for men to place more money into my thong, which felt so fucking degrading. But pole dancing is a definite way to attract interest. I tended to attract the interest of older men, men who could be my father's age, and I think I felt more at ease with these men. Like I had more power going for me as a young woman. I was the dominant one. I felt like I was the one in control. But being gay made this sort of work difficult. When I had to give a lap dance, I would close my eyes and think of dancing for my ex-girlfriend or A* this summer, and I could go through with the physical motions. Looking over at that one woman I thought was foxy could place me a little more into a sexual mood. I tried to be present with the men, tried to intuitively find out what it is that they needed from a woman during this fake exchange based on fantasy and acting, tried to give them their money's worth and persuade them to continue spending their money on me. Many of them want women to talk dirty to them and play around with them verbally (barf). I had a total of 4 men I privately sat with, and each one offered to buy me a drink. I had a beer, a cocktail, then switched to juice and diet coke, not wanting to get drunk in the middle of the day. I gravitated to one of the cocktail waitresses from the moment I stepped into the club. She was younger than me and had dark hair and striking eyes, and we clicked. She would bring the drinks while I sat with one of my "customers," usually topless. We were talking later on and I confessed that this sort of work is hard for me to do because I'm a lesbian. I came to find out that she is also a lesbian. Finally! I was among family. I did leave with a stack of cash, not as much as I had hoped to earn, but for my first day it was not bad. I'm going to dance a few nights a week, possibly even at a different club that seems to always be crowded. You can work as many or as little days a week as you wish and you can decide on working days or nights. Part of the trouble yesterday was that it was slow. We did not have enough men in the club. I want to be working somewhere that is going to be slammed.

I drove home feeling emotionally exhausted, a little disturbed, and in shock because it's a strange place to be immersed in for 7 hours. I wanted to get the hell away. I wanted to take a hot shower and wash my hands 3x in a row. I wanted to cleanse myself. I wanted to forget about that locker room and some of the shadier people. Hopefully, sooner than later I will be hired elsewhere. This is not forever. I pray that I will find an exit out soon. I don't know how much longer I can do it, you know? Such soul sucking work. It's a definite crappy job. The manager sits around all day eating his food and drinking while women dance around him making him money. I was nothing. I was a moving statue. And it ticked me off that women are so degraded in this environment. Take me out of this context: I'm an educated, feminist, lesbian writer who does other work like tutoring students and has her own business as a designer. I've gone undercover as a stripper and one fine day I'm going to have a novel out about this.

Employed.

I devoted the week to preparing myself physically, mentally, and spiritually for this work. I've been to yoga classes, reflecting on surrendering, meditating to candle light. I was lying on my back during a hatha class, and the instructor said she wanted to ask each of us to sacrifice something of ourselves through our hour together.

"What can you contribute to the world that is possibly painful for you give up?? It may be on a physical level or it may be a character trait."

I began to loosen up about offering my body to strangers for money so that I can survive during this horrible economic time. The yoga helped me break through the patterns of resistance. The instructor came along and pressed my shoulders deeper into the mat. I had no choice but to surrender physically and then emotionally. I left feeling like I can do this. I felt wonderful after moving in sync with other people.

I had a rehearsal run to a strip club yesterday. I put on blue jeans, a tight t-shirt, and high heels. I stuffed costume pieces into my bag in case. Then I got into my car. First I had to pick up a check from the college kid's mother for tutoring him. "How are you?" She asked, looking me up and down.

Practically starving.
Barely making it.
Worried.

Little did she know I was on my way to a strip club to apply for work and little did she know what I was wearing beneath the jeans and t-shirt. "Managing," I answered and thanked her for the money. Right away I deposited the check at the bank and got food because I have barely had enough to eat this week. I dream of sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes in butter, stuffing and turkey drowning in gravy, cranberry sauce, green beans, brussel sprouts, rich pie...

I drove north to the club and circled around for 30 minutes listening to music. Finally I entered the parking lot, my soul filling with sadness. I felt sad about many of the men who frequent this place, the lack of affection and love they might receive in their lives from a woman, and that they will pay tons of money to see women topless and have their attention. I felt sad about some of the women caught in this business; for me it is temporary; for some it is their career. It was such a seedy, awful place. I watched the men walking in. I wanted to hide. I drove away fast. I went to a yoga class that night and tried to accept this reality more.

Today, I knew I had to do it. I selected a different club, one that caters to more higher end clients, a club I feel more comfortable about working at. I walked in through the doors, spoke to a manager, and was hired to be a dancer on the spot, shoving aside my pride, my preconceived notions, my upbringing. More details on the inside workings of the club to come. My first day is tomorrow.

"But you're selling yourself." (Almost as much as a waitress is)
"But you're selling your goods." (Whatever that means)
"Don't you feel ashamed of dancing like that?" (For showing my body to strangers who want to look at me? No.)

I think that American society has some rather serious complexes surrounding sex and the body. I'm not a bad girl, a whore, a sell out, or somehow less as a person for being a topless dancer. I do have an issue with the system in that it is completely controlled by men and for men, and I do find some parts of it really degrading to women.

I consider myself a free spirit, a healer, a performance artist, and I certainly won't starve from here on out. Cheers to that.

I went to work one October morning in 2008 and most of the lights were switched off in the offices. People sat at their computers with somber expressions in the dark drinking coffee. Like someone had died. When my boss called me into the president’s office for a marketing meeting at 9:30, I had a sinking feeling that something bad was about to occur. She and the president were at a table with a grave melancholy in their eyes. I took a seat at the table in the room with expansive windows overlooking downtown and the state capitol building. The president held a black folder in his hands and waited for a moment to clear his voice. “As you know, the stock market is crashing this week on Wall Street. The economy is in trouble and so is this company. We are sorry to announce that we have to cut your position.” The buildings behind him outside swayed in my line of vision as I took in the words. I saw the buildings falling to the ground. I saw myself having no choice but to work as a stripper. I saw everything being in a state of ruin, our city, our nation, our world. The tears hit me. “We want you to know that this decision has no reflection on your work performance. Many people today will be learning that their positions are being cut. We cannot afford to have everyone.” My boss gave me a tissue and said that I had time to clear out my desk drawers, then she would escort me out. 2008 was the year I lost my good paying job, my best friend, my girlfriend, and my downtown apartment as I descended into financial ruin. 2008 was the year our nation had its major economic meltdown. Millions of people were suddenly out of work. Fast forward to 2009. We have a 10% national unemployment rate. I have a master’s degree in English. I’m an artist. I’m a writer. I’m a lesbian. I'm over educated and underemployed. And I have no choice at this point in time but to become an exotic dancer to survive.

***

Tomorrow, I'm jumping out of an airplane.
Metaphorically.
More to come on my dive into exotic dancing for a living.

life lessons '09

*letting go more
*not feeling the need to "fix" broken relationships and control
*learning to trust that i will be provided with everything and everyone i need at the right time
*listening to and respecting what other people are requesting

Ever since October of '08, right around the time I began this blog, I had lost my job, and the rest has been downhill from then on, financially speaking. You've listened to it all. The boring. The tedious. The depressing. My life has been on this crazy sinking ship, and I realize that everyone in our nation is experiencing the vibrations and repercussions of an economy in deep trouble. The city I live in is so competitive and hard for finding work in, and the economic collapse has trickled down to the bottom making it difficult to get hired at a restaurant even. I went through two interviews for a waitressing job about a week ago and am not being offered it. The company in Portland has not followed up with me. I have no other job leads here. I have submitted my resume to countless companies, restaurants, and other places every single day. What is a girl to do?? I've now resigned to looking for a truly crappy job. Like being a cashier at somewhere like... Target or Walmart. I cringe at the thought.

My parents live ten minutes away from me in this city and I've been at that point of discussing moving back in with them until I'm back on my feet. My father said, "We have our lives here and you can't expect to just walk back in. Don't you have friends you can live with? We really don't want you to move back here. What is appalling is that you're almost 30 and you can't even support yourself." That was the icing on the cake, dear readers. I think it is appalling that my parents are acting like this. I think it is appalling that my parents would not expect for me to stay with them. I think it is appalling to have a family like that. I think it is unacceptable. Memories from three decades flashed through me.

My father trying to hit me at age 15 and knocking down my furniture. My mother telling me to stop making up lies about him doing this to me. Her venomous words my whole life. My father calling me "pig!" Both of them mocking my weight gain in college. "Look at you - you're practically bursting out of your jeans. You think you're going to get a boyfriend looking like that?" Coming out to them in college. "We are so, so disappointed in you. It is unnatural. It is sick. You are obviously severely depressed and cannot take the rejection from men. You need psychological counseling. You think being a lesbian is so hip, huh? It's not. You'll never be able to hold down a job. We will never accept this. Never."

More bad memories and terrible words that have been flung at me over the years. It has been a continual pattern year after year. I'm grateful that I'm escaping and that I have a whole network of caring and compassionate friends. I have decided to end the relationship with my parents. I'm not sure if I want to not have contact with them for several years or if that will be an indefinite reality. What I do know is that I am disappearing from their lives. Goodbye. Hasta la vista. Ta ta. I feel this great freedom mixed with tristesse. Severing ties with your parents is a serious life decision, and from here on out, my parents are no more. They are these people I used to know. Last night, I could not stop the tears. My friend J lifted my spirits by taking me to see Anais Mitchell perform at the Cactus Cafe. Watching her live was magical. Her positive energy, voice, and laughter healed me for awhile. I want to start playing music like Anais does. The unbelievable cool part about it was that J personally knows her and was able to introduce me to her. Music has a powerful effect on my spirit.

After the show, my GBF picked me up in his car and treated me to wine and hors d'heuvres at Justine's, a new French restaurant that is open until 1:30 a.m. We had glasses of red wine and shared a plate of white asparagus in garlic butter sauce. My GBF was so sweet. "To unemployment," he said, toasting his wine glass to mine, "and to better times." I submitted my resume in case there is an opening for a server. O. I would love to work at a restaurant like Justine's. He heard the whole story about my ass hole parents and was in disbelief. I'm strong, smart, and not a fragile little being in need of protection, however, I appreciate the understanding from friends. I wish that I were not in between a rock and a hard place. One day soon I'm gonna get out and have everyone over for punch.

Phone interview was this afternoon. I thought it went well, no, I would say better than almost any interview I've had in my life. I had smoked two cigarettes and drank two cups of strong coffee before the interview, part of my pre-interview ritual. I feel like my whole life is now hanging on what they decide. If these people extend a job offer, I would be moving to Portland NEXT MONTH. I would move there for this job in a heartbeat. Are you kidding me?! Alas, I have absolutely zero control over the situation from now on. I have already sent a thank you message. The rest is up to fate.

Am I meant to live in Portland or am I meant to stay in Austin? Ask the magic 8 ball. My friends are not happy about my possible exit [but happy for me], and I do not know a single soul in Portland. I do think that I need a serious change of landscape, new people, new coffee houses, new restaurants, new lady friends, a new community to explore, and a new horizon. Living in Portland would be a lovely change of pace and I have such a positive feeling about working for this company.

I hope for this change over my glass of pinot noir.

Two reasons to be excited...

1. Visiting with my friend R from out of town and meeting her darling baby for the first time.

2. Receiving a phone call for a job interview in PORTLAND, Oregon.

I never went out last night. My GBF was bound to his computer. He is working on his PhD in computer science. He is a computer nerd with the big glasses and crazy hair. "Being in the program is the worst decision of my life." He told me. "I wish we could go gay clubbing together like we used to." He has not been able to go to Ladies' Night with me since May because of the amount of schoolwork. I feel like I don't have a GBF anymore and I know he feels like school has taken over his life completely. A friend suggested that it might be time to find a second GBF. I did become friends with a darling gay boy over the summer who was extremely social, actually quite the partier, but he had to move out of state for graduate school and I was out of luck.

I brewed a pot of tea and drew out a business plan. Do you want to know more? I'm still playing around with the name of my company. I would like it to essentially be an art/design studio that provides landscape design, paintings for sale, and creative writing and art workshops for the community. I envision it being a real studio in a building someday. With a connected garden and coffee house! A website will have to suffice for the "studio" for the time being. The main draw will be the landscape design. I seriously need a website to advertise my services. Out of nowhere, a friend's boyfriend has offered to design the website for me. He said I can pay him something later on when I have more business. He used to whore himself out at corporations, and then he said fuck it, and became a musician who now works at a pizza place. He understands why I am doing what I'm doing. I went to this place to listen to him perform music. We split a slice of pizza and watched from a dark table under red lights.

It has been raining since this morning. The sky is gray and it is the perfect afternoon for drinking coffee and writing in a coffee house, which is precisely how I'm spending the afternoon. It feels a little scary to go out on a limb and START a business, but I can feel in my gut that it is the right choice. Inspiration for the name is coming from my favorite movie. But of course.

Saturday night. I'm at a coffee house, typing away with job applications in front of my computer. My GBF and I will probably be hitting some gay clubs later on, or it could be me going it alone if I feel brave enough. Often I feel like I'm swimming through a dark ocean in gay clubs, not knowing who and what I will stumble upon, always anticipating the need to swim in the opposite direction with what I find. Or I could swim right into someone lovely. You never know what you will come face to face with, and I think most people would agree by now that I'm selective, actually, very selective when it comes to women I'm interested in.

I'm still broke and looking for a stable income, but the good news is I completed the backyard design for client no. 1 and brought home with me a check for $370. Excited and thrilled that client no. 1 had a smile on her face, I went to the bookstore to purchase this month's issue of Bust Magazine, the one magazine I've been reading religiously since I was 24. The magazine always makes me feel energized and inspired by what other women are doing around the world; not like I need to change who I am after reading it. As I walked into the bookstore, there was A* in my line of vision. I instantly cut over to the magazine aisle. She showed up in a dream the other night and we were on wonderful terms in the dream. I remember not wanting to wake up from it because we were holding hands. I still reminisce on those real nights of clandestine makeout sessions behind the house in the dark and the memory of her lips and her hand running up my thigh.

That guy I fooled around with, we have known each other for 4 years. We are friends and he is living with my GBF in a house down the street from mine. I believe in retrospect that he did not believe that I am actually a lesbian, and I believe that I had something to prove to myself about that. Dating men may be a possibility for my ex-girlfriend. It is not for me. I have the image of myself almost throwing up. Furthermore, I never imagined I would have a pregnancy scare at this point in time. Two weeks ago, he needed me to come over to his house one afternoon because he was freaking out that he had gotten me accidentally pregnant. There was a small chance that he had, and when I found myself sitting at a cafe eating chocolate with olives to satisfy my intense food cravings this week and had the sorest breasts ever, I worried. Imagine: the pregnant lesbian.

"You would... have an abortion, right?" He asked. "Do you think we need to get the emergency morning after pill?" I rationalized that it was p.m.s. and that he had very little or nothing to worry about. I would have an abortion if he had gotten me pregnant and he would be helping me pay for it. 50/50. But I did not feel deep down that I was pregnant. Nothing had been created between us. I am so overjoyed now to have my period. Thank the goddesses.

Celebrations