L ovely lady lumps
A dores most things with 4 legs
U nfortunately No Longer a Virgin (bahaha. Yeah right. Who names a band that?)
R eally, really loves her friends
I s pretty sure that boys are dumb
E ats too much. But food is so yummy…
L ives for the weekend. And being cliché.
Y awns too much
O nly wants to be with you
N ot ashamed to admit how much she loves Britney
S till sleeps with a stuffed animal
K uddly
O h how I was to kiss you
A lifetime of bamboo you would get from me
L ove your little ears and nose and toes
A wwww
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
Horoscopes
Cancer- Relying on another to reflect how you see yourself may seem like a place that you can find comfort right now, but just remember that one way of looking at something isn’t always the right way. Value the opinions of those close to you and make sure you look through multiple peoples’ mirrors, not just one.
Pisces-.Delaying gratification may seem like the best idea most of the time, but if it turns out that the reward at the end of the wait was not what you expected, a lot of time ends up wasted. Go for the immediate gratification next time.
Capricorn- Though the road that you travelled to get where you are may have been really rough, your triumphs along those bumps are something to be celebrated. Be sure to take some time to reflect on where you’ve been and where you’re going.
Pisces-.Delaying gratification may seem like the best idea most of the time, but if it turns out that the reward at the end of the wait was not what you expected, a lot of time ends up wasted. Go for the immediate gratification next time.
Capricorn- Though the road that you travelled to get where you are may have been really rough, your triumphs along those bumps are something to be celebrated. Be sure to take some time to reflect on where you’ve been and where you’re going.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Single Mom
Fuck. That fucking sound. It’s really that time again? I swear I just did this a day ago. Ooh, it looks like the puppies didn’t notice it this time. I’m going for another 15.
Then it comes again. This time, the puppies fucking notice. This time, I am not only assaulted by the screeching, honking, blaring sounds shooting out of my clock radio, but I am now being molested by tiny puppy tongues and paws, eagerly attempting to excavate the holes in my face. I manage to make it out with no scratches to my cheeks this morning.
I make my way out of bed to survey the damage from the night. Only one pile of poo? Awesome. And most of it made it onto the newspaper. Even better. I grab the girls’ water bowl and fill it up halfway. I place it on the floor as they look at it with disdain. Their little pug butts start shaking as they see me go for the yellow bag that they love so much. Penelope lets me know I need to hurry the fuck up by barking and growling at me. Yeah, cuz that’s going to help. I place the bowls of food on the ground, and watch them do their dance-half a second at one bowl, then a half circle around to the other as they suck them dry. Now it’s Ginger’s turn and I make my way to the garage to fill her bowl.
After dropping her food off, I head to my room to pick out my outfit and brush my teeth. I listen to the weather from News 8 to make sure my clothing choice was correct, and as I stand there, mid-stroke, foamy white stuff dribbling down my chin, the girls all come galloping into my room to let me know it’s time to go out. I walk them to the back door as they dart past me. I piddle around another few minutes, packing up my laptop, getting my lunch ready, and then come Ginger’s scratches at the door. I let her in and check on the pups, doing god-knows-what in the backyard, then head off to the shower.
Now it’s my turn to start getting ready.
Then it comes again. This time, the puppies fucking notice. This time, I am not only assaulted by the screeching, honking, blaring sounds shooting out of my clock radio, but I am now being molested by tiny puppy tongues and paws, eagerly attempting to excavate the holes in my face. I manage to make it out with no scratches to my cheeks this morning.
I make my way out of bed to survey the damage from the night. Only one pile of poo? Awesome. And most of it made it onto the newspaper. Even better. I grab the girls’ water bowl and fill it up halfway. I place it on the floor as they look at it with disdain. Their little pug butts start shaking as they see me go for the yellow bag that they love so much. Penelope lets me know I need to hurry the fuck up by barking and growling at me. Yeah, cuz that’s going to help. I place the bowls of food on the ground, and watch them do their dance-half a second at one bowl, then a half circle around to the other as they suck them dry. Now it’s Ginger’s turn and I make my way to the garage to fill her bowl.
After dropping her food off, I head to my room to pick out my outfit and brush my teeth. I listen to the weather from News 8 to make sure my clothing choice was correct, and as I stand there, mid-stroke, foamy white stuff dribbling down my chin, the girls all come galloping into my room to let me know it’s time to go out. I walk them to the back door as they dart past me. I piddle around another few minutes, packing up my laptop, getting my lunch ready, and then come Ginger’s scratches at the door. I let her in and check on the pups, doing god-knows-what in the backyard, then head off to the shower.
Now it’s my turn to start getting ready.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Never: A Letter
Note: this is totally not for anyone in particular. The two men in my life who did me the worst have since apologized as they had time as adults to reflect on their behavior. Kinda funny, huh? Anyway, the only other two people who I would write to would probably actually be reading this, so I choose to not air all of my business to everyone (or them) in this manner.
You will never again run your hand down the soft, warm skin on the small of my back. You will never again press your eager lips against mine, knowing that mine have been waiting all day for this encounter. You will never again get to smell the tiny hint of coconut and lime that floats around my hair. Never again. But that was your choice. And now you have to live with it.
You will never again run your hand down the soft, warm skin on the small of my back. You will never again press your eager lips against mine, knowing that mine have been waiting all day for this encounter. You will never again get to smell the tiny hint of coconut and lime that floats around my hair. Never again. But that was your choice. And now you have to live with it.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Grinding Honeymoon
It’s dawn again. Time to wake up. I’m so glad that my internal clock allows me to forego the use of an alarm clock. That shrill, shrieking noise jumping across the room at me makes my stomach drop just thinking about it. Even worse, though, is the thought of those eyes peering up at me from below the covers. Those eyes that are either filled with hatred or longing, sadness or disgust, but rarely, these days, with love. It’s not like when it first started. Not like the early days when I would wake up and offer her a gentle kiss on her forehead, and be rewarded with a back scratch and a hug around the waist, her exceedingly warm and sheet-marked breasts gently pressing against my back. Those days are sadly gone. After we got back from Costa Rica, after what happened those few days following our blessed nuptials, things just weren’t the same. Once that honeymoon was over, I never felt that warmth on my back, or anywhere else for that matter, again.
I crawled out of bed, careful to not wake her as I pulled on my long johns, suspenders, and flannel shirt. I knew that if she woke, even at this asscrack hour of dawn, she would want to talk, to air grievances, to discuss all of the things that were wrong with us. I certainly wasn’t sticking around for that. Shit, I had too much work to do. I had an ax to grind before I could even get started. Damn dull blade makes the cold seem like it wanted to rape me even more than it already did.
(to be continued)
I crawled out of bed, careful to not wake her as I pulled on my long johns, suspenders, and flannel shirt. I knew that if she woke, even at this asscrack hour of dawn, she would want to talk, to air grievances, to discuss all of the things that were wrong with us. I certainly wasn’t sticking around for that. Shit, I had too much work to do. I had an ax to grind before I could even get started. Damn dull blade makes the cold seem like it wanted to rape me even more than it already did.
(to be continued)
Saturday, January 3, 2009
(working title)
I checked the window one last time to see the sky still shrouded in dark ash, with the quickly fading border between sun and moon turning the sky to a haunting orange. If I believed in God (well, maybe now was the time to start reconsidering my lack of faith), I would have thought he was busy decorating for a global Halloween party, the way the orange and wet grey intermingled with one another.
I looked down to the bowl of the crater, a cauldron bubbling sans Shakespeare’s Three Witches, but horrifying just the same. I watched as another bus came through the narrow streets, transporting more of the citizens of our sad excuse for a town to higher ground, the only defense we had. This was no New Orleans, I thought to myself. When our crater levees burst, there will be no chance of surviving by swimming, boating, floating your way to safety in contaminated water. The second that crater overflowed, you were fucked if you were anywhere under a mile close to it. That Anakin Skywalker bullshit where just some of his pieces burned up, resulting in his need for a shiny black suit and personalized vocoder? That’s all it was-Hollywood bullshit. In real life you get incinerated. You die. And as a bonus, you get cremated for free. There is no body for your loved ones to mourn over, no teeth for the coroner to match to your post-braces dental records. Poof.
My train of thought was quickly derailed as it started. I could see globs of the stuff start to plop up into the air, then heave themselves back down into the massive pot of scalding tomato soup. The ground began to tremble and I watched as the massive T-Rex and Stegosaurus that I had grown up climbing all over at Dino Park fell past the lip of the crater and into their own extinction. That’s when it began to spill over. That’s when the horror really, really set in.
We all rushed into the bedroom. The high pitched screaming of all of those little voices is a sound I will never forget. I imagine it’s what a slaughterhouse sounds like, which is exactly where we were. We, the adults, the smart ones who just so had our shit together, began scooping the little ones under the bed and into the bathtub. Sounds completely insane, right? I mean how in the fuck is hiding under a bed going to keep you safe from 1,250 degrees of molten earth? The same way that hiding under an elementary school desk protects you from radiation. The only power that we had was keeping these kids from panicking too, too much, thus avoiding a few years of therapy if we made it out alive.
I lie on the outermost spot under the bed, making me first to go if the lava seeped in. I thought I was being noble, but looking back, maybe I was being selfish. It’s all relative, as we would’ve all been gone within milliseconds of one another had it come. But it didn’t. And I’m here. And they’re here. And when it was all said and done, we all went out for banana milkshakes.
I looked down to the bowl of the crater, a cauldron bubbling sans Shakespeare’s Three Witches, but horrifying just the same. I watched as another bus came through the narrow streets, transporting more of the citizens of our sad excuse for a town to higher ground, the only defense we had. This was no New Orleans, I thought to myself. When our crater levees burst, there will be no chance of surviving by swimming, boating, floating your way to safety in contaminated water. The second that crater overflowed, you were fucked if you were anywhere under a mile close to it. That Anakin Skywalker bullshit where just some of his pieces burned up, resulting in his need for a shiny black suit and personalized vocoder? That’s all it was-Hollywood bullshit. In real life you get incinerated. You die. And as a bonus, you get cremated for free. There is no body for your loved ones to mourn over, no teeth for the coroner to match to your post-braces dental records. Poof.
My train of thought was quickly derailed as it started. I could see globs of the stuff start to plop up into the air, then heave themselves back down into the massive pot of scalding tomato soup. The ground began to tremble and I watched as the massive T-Rex and Stegosaurus that I had grown up climbing all over at Dino Park fell past the lip of the crater and into their own extinction. That’s when it began to spill over. That’s when the horror really, really set in.
We all rushed into the bedroom. The high pitched screaming of all of those little voices is a sound I will never forget. I imagine it’s what a slaughterhouse sounds like, which is exactly where we were. We, the adults, the smart ones who just so had our shit together, began scooping the little ones under the bed and into the bathtub. Sounds completely insane, right? I mean how in the fuck is hiding under a bed going to keep you safe from 1,250 degrees of molten earth? The same way that hiding under an elementary school desk protects you from radiation. The only power that we had was keeping these kids from panicking too, too much, thus avoiding a few years of therapy if we made it out alive.
I lie on the outermost spot under the bed, making me first to go if the lava seeped in. I thought I was being noble, but looking back, maybe I was being selfish. It’s all relative, as we would’ve all been gone within milliseconds of one another had it come. But it didn’t. And I’m here. And they’re here. And when it was all said and done, we all went out for banana milkshakes.
Year of the Ox
Oh, ox.
Mick Jagger may not want to be you,
As you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.
I hate that you are burdened so, dear beast.
Unlike your verbose cousin, you never talk back,
But I wish you would.
Mick Jagger may not want to be you,
As you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.
I hate that you are burdened so, dear beast.
Unlike your verbose cousin, you never talk back,
But I wish you would.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Setting my Intention
My writing intention:
Committed: This is my number one word, because it’s my number one priority. I have to find a way to invest more time and attention to my writing, both personally and professionally.
Entertaining: Well, it’s me, so obviously hilarity is going to be part of anything that I do. I hope to also be moving, provocative, and interesting.
Natural: I told Sinclair today that I love her writing so much because it is so natural and wonderful, and I want to be able to write like that. I want to find a way for my words to flow out of me, rather than having to find a way to pull them out like a loose tooth.
Lucrative: I hope to really be able to make some things happen this year when it comes to some writing projects.
Awesome
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