Who, What?

There was an invisible little girl
who cried a crystal clear tear
right in the middle
where her cheek should be
and it evaporated into thin air
so she let out a sob
and cursed herself hard
fustrated because she was voiceless.

Cats and Dogs Living Together

Holy crap. Pigs and monkeys. http://wcco.com/topstories/local_story_050172415.html
This was on the local news just days after I found out the person right before me who had the same procedure, islet cell transplant by injection, instead of sugicaly, died on the operating table. Eight people before me had a transplant, not all were successfull, and none buy the less invasive way I had mine.
I also discovered I am a poster child for the U of M. http://www.diabetesinstitute.org/diabinst/treatmentsdiabetes/islet/stories/lalli.html Please read the home page on that site.
When I had my procedure, my doctor, Dr. Herring told me he was already working on a more advanced cure. I was his baby steps.
I am happy for modern technology. But this type of news upsets me. I don't know what to do with my face.

The Greasemonkeys Daughter

We never did have a new car when I was growing up. Dad was a mechanical engineer, of sorts. My father did not hold a degree. He had barley made it through the eighth grade of a one room Finnish/American school house. Wilmar would come up with bits and pieces off other machinery and design a completely new mechanism. His biggest invention he made most often though, was do.

The automobiles we drove were often made up of miscellaneous parts of cars he would scavenge. Dad was a genius when it came to putting together scraps of machinery and turn them into running machinery. He built tractors, harvesting equipment, and once a prosthesis leg for his war veteran friend. The cars we drove were always a work in the making, and often needed a little help. Mufflers, that if you drove for too long and too fast, would fall off, or stick shifts that would take two hands to maneuver, for instance.

That might be why, when my last jeep was laid to rest, I bulked at the notion of setting foot into a car dealership. In my mind, there was no unfixable automobile. So what if the back end of my wagon was gone, there was another half of an unscathed junker that could be married to my beloved blue jeep. I just couldn't find the man willing to take the time and do it.

On the other hand, in this modern day disposable world there are a trunk load of those willing and eager to sell me a new one. "I don't want a new car", I repeatedly told my husband, who was on his mission of loving provider. "I know how to start a truck with a pick-axe. I can make do with a used model."

Hubby didn't like the idea of me stranded because of car problems , late at night, on the side of the road while he was out of town. I told him I could also protect myself with same pick axe.

For valentines day Hubby bought me a nice shiny new red jeep. It will do. I wonder how he will use the pick axe I bought him. And if in some wreck yard, somewhere, the pieces of my old jeep will make someone else happy.

No Centerfold Here

I did not like it when he took pictures of me. I do not know if it is because the quality of the images, or the timing of the snap shots, but I would cringe when he would procure his Kodak. In all his shots I am turning away, avoiding the lens. When he asked to include the camera in our intimate time, I was surprised. I thought I knew him better than that, or at least he knew me. But when later I discovered his stash of our erotica, I smiled out loud. Every shot was of only my face.

Love Potion # 6,726,587,239

If I were to formulate for you your specific love potion, what would it smells would it consist of? A wafting of pumpkin pie, a hint of cedar and a pinch of Axe body spray? Warm puppy fur, popcorn and a whiff of the beach? A drop of sweat, a sprinkle of cinnamon and a puff of smoke? Money? Does the smell of baby make you warm or just impatient? New car aroma give you tingles or nausea? And what do I package your essence of emotional devotion in? Would you like it in a crystal decanter, empty gin bottle, or would a WD 40 can do? A jeweled box or a zip lock baggy?Let me know soon eh? My personal concoction of fresh paint, curry, leather, fish and hospital antiseptic in a chocolate shell will probably not be requested for duplication this valentines season.

The Mice in My Brain

I'm sorry I haven't written you much lately, but I have been thinking of a lot of things....

Of the fireworks exploding in the dark sky, as we watched through the picture window of the ice shack.

The spoon of justice.

Groupings, clusters, or rows?

South Dakota.

Of the naughty little pair of leather leaderhosen I'll be sporting while serving shinitzle and spagle on Valentines night.

Pearl asking who hit her as I walked her back to the patrol car.

Teaching K2 how to yodel on the ski lift when I surprised him on his birthday and took him skiing instead of school.

Of the invasion of goateed men at work.

Warm ginger snaps.

Of the beauty at http://www.augustlalliflowers.com/

My hatred of car dealerships and salesmen.

My chiropractor with the shoe fetish.

The Citadel pussy.

The song automated Boy by The Dresden Dolls.

Art dot cards.

Men in recliners.

Drive by lawn trollings.

Hopefully lunching in Anoka.

K2 walking out of class the day after he witnessed me walk out of the new jeep transaction.

The class I'll be teaching with Sweatin John.

Why all black pants make my skin itch. Am I allergic to black?

The upcoming strange shenanigans at http://notjustadogandmonkeyshow.blogspot.com/ And can someone please tell him how to post a picture on his profile?


I promise I will try to write and keep you up more often. But you never know.

At Least Good Guys Finish

I wish I had met you sooner
fucked ya up twist you turn you into a train wreck loser
show you the truly dark side of the moon
eat you up baby with my warped spoon
be my freak tweakin for the poon
wear you like a string around my finger
flick off the world with you my little ringer
turn you inside out left out to dry teach you how it feels to cry
ride you hard put away wet
you'd beg for more bitch wanta bet
use you up for my joy ride
shred every once of your masculine pride
strut my welcome mat to trap you for my chew toy
want to taste some candy little boy
run for the hills don't look back
keep me from makin you a burned up hater
your so better off never than later

Pearl Jam

Thank God for silver foxes.

The world needs more sweet little old ladies who drive silver sports cars.

Sharp as tacks pushing centurion who do lunch at their less mobile friends homes.

Thank you Lord for giving them the timing to do their outings while young children and pedestrians are in school.

Great Grannies smart enough to buy wheels with all the necessary deployable air bags.

Wise sun spotted beauties who are nimble enough to maneuver around snow plows.

Blessed be genuine who are able to scan the horizon for road signs, but miss seeing my stand still jeep.

Wizen angles who make it possible for me to have insurance pay for my back rubs and new neck adornment.

Sweeties named Pearl who are too tough to let there paramedic examine her, and worry about my well being.

Heaven sent ladies who will never drive again and keep the more venerable safe.

Nursing home refugees who will make the salesman of my next, even bigger SUV, fall on their knees.

Thank you, for perfect timing.