A New Resalution

Ten things I'm going to try in the new year.



1 Watch at least one of the "Lord of the Rings".

2 Stop rubbing Joan's personal lotion on my hands at work before rubbing the eye glasses Jim leaves at work. (Double the evil, double the fun.)

3 Tell my youngest son the lump in my fore arm is caused by an over my active healing process and is not an electronic chip implanted by aliens.

4 By my own damn Chia pet and stop asking for one every Christmas and being bitterly disappointed.

5 Hang my coat up like a normal person when arriving in my office, instead of doing a strip tease utilizing the condiment shelves in lew of a pole. (Barrel turns the camera's on to only my office to watch me when he is on guard duty, instead of a 4 second rotation between all the different cameras. I know watching me in much more interesting but ick.)

6 Refrain from naming wild cats bizarre names such as Gingus Cat, Catskills Mountain, and Harriet, then expecting them to remember their new identities. I must also stop calling my inmates by the same names. (Harriet was my deaf mum's name. Harriet is also the semi albino hard of hearing cat. And my pot scraper.)

7 Embrace my inner freak by utilizing my fondue pot and that thing under my sink as I have always dreamed.

8 Take out additional insurance before attempting #7.

9 Write more stories complete with paragraghs and puctuation instead of easy lists.

10 Walk down my steps like a civilized individual without yelling "Weee! I can fly!" as I leap off my deck. Unless of course, I do manage to grab more air on the way down tomorrow.



ahem did you notice I did not mention Rock once in this post? he was going to be #10 but i held myself back

Queen Anne Cordials

The small grimy hand shot out of the tattered camouflage sleeve and into the crate of festively colored pistachio nuts.
"Hey. Knock it off. Your going to get yourself in trouble", the man told the girl sternly.
She looked at him and grinned vaguely. The back of her neck was beginning to sweat. She had been cold to the bone the entire day, but now she wiped away the drops of perspiration below her greesy hair line with a dirty glove.
"Hurry up, we have to get home and start supper."
He had found her, standing idle, starring at the ribbon candy. She followed him at a distance, trying to keep up with his long stride. Her legs were tired water, her big boots stone. The girl caught up with the man at the meat counter, were she paused and rested against the plastic parsley lined cooler and let the cold air blow up her back.
"They WILL hand you over to the police, if you keep that up", he warned her again, as she ate from the clear open bag in their cart, when he was done selecting the bargain hamburger.
"mm not doing...", but she could not finish the sentience. Her mouth was full, even though she knew better, and she just did not have the energy to finish her sentience.
"You're no thief", he told her as he tried wiping the red food coloring from the nut shells off her face with his spitty fingers. "If you are dumb enough not to wipe the evidence off your face, I'll let them keep you in back till they decide what jail to throw you in." She just smiled at him, wanting him to continue rubbing her face so she could rest longer.
"That's enough now. Behave. We have to get home and take care of the animals."
She wanted to leave the store right then, as hungry as she was. But she knew she would never find her way back to his truck parked in the dark snowy parking lot. And she hadn't the energy to explain why. So she clumped along behind him, trying her best to unbutton the heavy hand me down army jacket as she walked. The sweat was now pouring down her back between her shoulder blades and causing her woolen long johns to itch.
The man turned a corner with the cart and she lost him. So she sat down on a large bag of dry dog food and waited. The piped in Christmas music was too loud, and the words did not make sense. They sounded failure but not quite right, almost as if they were being sung in a different language. She sat and tried to concentrate on the words, thinking maybe if she thought hard enough, the words would come right.. She rubbed the sore spot on her forehead, where her hardhat had chaffed her skin when her boot slipped off the bottom bag of dog food she was sitting on and ripped a small hole. A dry puddle of dog foot piled by her foot. She bent over to pick it up in her clammy hand.
"Come. One." He had found her. Or at least she thought it might be him. He shoved his big hand under her damp arm pit and helped her up. She looked at him and saw two of his angry faces scowling back at her. With one hand she grabbed onto the side of the cart to steady herself and shoved the dog food into her mouth with the other.
"What did I tell you? Are you eating the pistachios?", he asked her. She shook her head no, letting them dissolve slowly in her mouth. She closed both her eyes. All the lights and confusion of the bulk grocery store was overstimulating for her. The metal of the grocery cart was cool beneath her hand. She let it guide her, as she shuffled along side it, moving when it did, trying her best not to crunch as she chewed.
"Where is your coat?", she heard the voice ask repeatedly. She didn't want to open her eyes. She didn't know who's voice was so insistent. She didn't know where she was. "Wait here", she might have heard drifting away from her.
She opened her eyes and found herself slumped in the front seat of her boyfriends truck, her face prompt against the windows frosty glass. The multicolored lights on the tree in front of the store were all blurred together. She was shivering again, her clothes all wet and clammy. She needed to pee, and to spit the cloying sweet taste from her mouth, but she could not yet pull herself upright and dig the blueprints out of the small of her back.
He had seen her open her eyes. "You ok now?", he asked, fear had replaced the anger. She turned her head, surprised to see him sitting next to her. She closed her eyes again and nodded.
"What happened in there?", he asked.
She wanted to answer but her mouth could not form a coherent word, even if she had a viable reason.
"I'm going back in, and pay for our groceries," he said a while later. "We will be late on the construction site this morning", she replied when her blood sugar was high enough for her to speak clearly.
"It is night, not morning", he told her tersely before walking away through the snow towards the electronic doors. She sat up straight and watched him go, glad to be going home where she would crawl straight into bed after her shower. Tomorrow would start another twelve hour day as a construction laborer.
She was drinking the bottom residue from their coffee thermos as he loaded the bags into the bed of the truck.
He pushed the torn holiday paper aside and dropped a case of diet Pepsi on the floor of the truck so she could lean against him on their long ride home.
"What happened back in there?", he asked her again.
"I don't know," she told him, "My blood sugar just dropped. You must be working me two hard."
"I left you by our cart in the check out line to get your coat off the dog food display. I knew something was wrong with you. When I came back, you were sitting in the pop cooler. You fought me as I pulled out. It was embarrassing."
"I'm sorry", she said as he rested her head against his shoulder. Their unknown babies in her stomach danced with all the sugar they had just been fed. Their little pancreases already producing extra insulin sporadically, mischievously.
"I hope you realize you just ate your Christmas present. I can't afford anymore."
The little mother looked at the empty box of chocolate covered cherries that had been wrapped so lovingly.

She has received a box every year she has been with him. She loves the candy. She just can't bring herself to eat it.

Getting My War Face On

So. It's the holiday company party time. First, I'm going to watch this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7j2DHUw8SZg

Then I'm putting on my babydoll pj's and my cell phone and heading out.


*i do have the asian chick in front rights hair, i might as well go for it.

Rock Star Locks

Like all the important decisions in her life, the thought came to her and was out her lips before she could stop it.
"So are we going to cut your hair today?", asked the stylist who was busy adding some summer to her winter 'do.
"NO", came her usual answer. No one ever cut her hair. Only her husband. He was very jealous and protective of her waves.
And then equally fast and before she realized she had said it, and meant it, "Yes. Today we cut it all off."
She felt naked when she stepped out of the salon, the wind cold on her neck.
When she walked into her house, he was there. He could not look at her. When he spoke to her, never looking at her directly, he called her by the masculine form of her name.
"Dylan, buddy, you seen my wife around?"
Watching late night TV when she was consoling her self by stuffing her face with popcorn and regret , she caught Marilyn Manson on a talk show sporting her new hair style.
She stood up and put the food down. Then she took off all her clothes and set off in search of her husband.
It was proven she was more woman than any aging transvestite rock star will ever be.

All I Want

Dear Santa,

All I want for this year is for my new friends to get what they want. Here's my top ten list.

For my dishwasher, Fronting, you know the one with the gold grill, I want an alarm clock. So he can get his lazy ass to work before 4 in the afternoon, and pay some of his child support before Christmas.

For Beckdaul, my favorite morning cook with the liquor store robbing habit, please give him early parole. The man worked sixteen hours days to buy a DVD player for the St. Joe's children's hospital. You know the place, his wife is next door dieing of cancer.

For my new boss Steve, give him a new tooth to replace the one he broke off when he bit into the claw part of his chicken patty.

For Officer Mackerel Breath up at A-control, please give him a sex life. I am tired of having to take my coat off in front of him every morning and spinning around. I know I have a dangerous look to me but hey.

Please give offender 218769 a shirt with sleeves so I do not have to blush every him he flexes.

Give Ellis the meat guy some cooking talent other than the perfect recipe for meth. I have never tried meth, but I understand it tastes similar to his chicken. That and a stronger lock for the chemical room.

Please give my pop vendor a sense of humor. So next time I jump out at him and yell "Boogie-Boogie", he doesn't throw another wrench at me.

Please give the warden a new phone number and a false sense of security. I really miss our late night phone conversations.

Please give my warehouse guy a full nights sleep without a shake down from the overzealous guard to is looking for stolen snacky snacks. I need my inventory done dammit.

Please let the cops find all that Minnesota evidence I planted at The Rocks house. I'll take good care of him on the inside, I promise

Getting What I Want

I've finally got it all figured out. My goals will all be achieved will little effort. Fait acompli without breaking a sweat. Here's how.

Tonight as I am getting ready for bed, I'm going to layer my pajama's. Thin blue first. Flannel kitten pants. Wild hockey jersey over top. (Baby it's cold out side.) I'm gonna make sure I am slightly a strew and must up. Then I'm going to jam my tootsie's into my kids slippers and off I go. I will raise my arms out straight in front of me all sleepwalking zombie ish, and the fun begins.

Everyone knows when one is sleepwalking you never ever wake them for fear of a crazy psychotic episode and will follow a short distance behind me, scared to wake me, watchful in case I step off a cliff or through a plate glass window or lesbian bar.

I'm going to walk into the treatment center with a fifth of Jack and start rearranging things while quoting Ben Jonson. Then I might march over to the gym and straight into the men's locker room and start labeling body parts with my cake decorating kit and they can't stop me for fear I will freak out and go nuts and embarrass myself. And next I will shuffle into the prison's kitchen and climb into the steam kettle and pretend to row it like a kayak as I yell racial slurs and accidentally wack people with my paddle when they come near. The airport will be my last destination where I'll just march onto an airliner waiting to board with hands in front of me, navigate the plane from the pilots seat to the warm Caribbean. And it will all work as long as my arms are stiff out in front of me, cuz soon as my arms drop I'm just another drunk pervy racist in pajamas.

Wild Hearts

You won't even hear the shot.
There you were, sitting in your big over sized chair, feet up with your morning coffee. You were not even aware your baby was up, much less out side in the cold.
"Lynnie?", you hear your husbands voice full of fear come from the kitchen.
You pause, your favorite mug with the wide handle midway to your waiting mouth.
"LYNNIE BABE", he repeats louder but you hear the anxiety drip from every syllable anyway.
"What?", you holler kicking away your foot stool and spilling dark roast across your lap.
"Wolfy. Shot..", and the rest is drowned out by the thunder of your feet down the wooden floor on your way into the kitchen. You get to your husbands side at the kitchen window but his large frame is semi obstructing your view. You see your youngest son doubled over out in the back pasture.
"Wolfy shot a wild turkey. I'll be damned", Hubby finishes. You are remembering the lectures you have given him about the importance of complete sentences and uninterrupted thought. As you stand there and watch him continue to hoot and chortle in bizarre fragments you simply resign your self not to badger him and just psychically rebuff him. You hear your kids footfalls on the porch and walk over to the door.
"Let him in. Let him in quick." (See, You tell yourself. Two complete sentences in a row. So what if there are the same. He must have heard you in his head.)
You open the blind in the door's window and there is the boy holding up a very large black bird by the feet. The birds head will be hanging limp down by your son's knee's. You look at your mate with your eyes and mouth open in a perfect little 0 and your mate looks back at you with his eye's and mouth in the same letter.
"Open that door before anyone sees him out there", your husband will bark.
In comes the boy and dead animal dripping on your clean floor.
"What are we going to do with it?", the husband will ask the anxiety lingering in his voice. "I don't want to get caught and get in trouble with the game warden. They could come here and take everything", the fear in his voice mounting.
Scarty cat, you will think. Boy scout. Do gooder. Non poacher.
"I can burry him behind the pole barn." the Mr. Rodgers you married will come up with.
"Yeah. Could be the CSI from my department are watching me this weekend", you taunt him.
"Oh God! That's right" he will answer.
"Shut. Up.", you answer. Get the big pot in here. We are going to eat the evidence."
"NO! I will pluck it out in the barn. So if the DNR come. They can't take our house."
You go to mop the latte off the floor before your cat gets sick and the blood as well long as you are being domestic. Later as you are tearing bread for stuffing Wolfy will ask if his friend girl Vivica can come over. Your husband will over hear and yell, "Don't tell anyone about the bird."
You clean the organs and as you wash the heart you will tell your son who is standing at the sink waiting for you to pick up Viv, " Did you know some native Americans believe if you share the heart of an animal you killed, you will always be connected by that heart." He will listen and nod and tell you to hurry up.
Later when you are making the giblet gravy Wolfy will ask if his friend can stay for dinner. You will say yes.
"Are you going to use all the guts", he will ask.
"Yes."
"Can I have a taste of the heart?" He chews a large bite. Then he will ask Vivica to taste it. They will argue, but Vivica will succeed to his begging. She takes a nibble. "Ugh. I don't really like it." Wolfy will deflate before her eyes. (Viv of course knows where the bird came from. But she keeps her mouth shut.) Viv sees Wolfy's body curling in on it's self and ask for another taste. She likes it better this time.
They will turn to back to playing American Heart Association CPR on brown stained rug in the living room (Her mom is a nurse and all).
Lynnie chops the rest of the giblets up and adds them into the gravy. She likes this Vivica. She will get an extra big ladle. Viv makes the Dad say, "Please pass me the mashed potatoes", be fore she hands them over.

Starting Something

"Just what do you think you are doing under there?", your boss will ask you.


You will place the Sterno fluid, matches, and sunflower seeds (you crunch them when you are nervous) on the top of your desk as you crawl out and turn your big wide eyes toward him.



"Ooh. Now I've gone and started something", you will slowly answer, "I've done started something THISS time."



The smoke will be rising up now and your superior will shout about fire and usher everyone out the closest exit. Except you. You will sit with your head in your hands repeatedly whimpering about the thing you done started as the flames lick up the cheap veneer of your desk. As the last guard pauses to look back at you, yell- "I warned them, I warned them good. Don't play nice, and I WILL be starting something. Didn't I warn you all?"



Once everyone has left through the sally ports, turn the gas of the ovens that line the exterior of the room on full bast and blow the walls out. At this point you have exactly fifteen minuets before the fire fighters make it to your location. Strip down bare assed naked (the video monitors are now fogged over) and proceed to rub your butt on every phone receiver and computer mouse in the vicinity. Rub your ass on the camera's lens for good measure to throw the CSI in a loop ("Frank! Did you just see what I saw there? Was that an anus?"). Haul out the bones you got from the inside black market and arrange them realistically at your smoldering desk with some of your uniform. Resist the urge to cross the femur bones pirate style by the skull. This could possibly have taken you only ten minuets minus all the exaggerated hinney rubbing , but whatever. Grab the roster with the inmates identities on it and off the back loading dock you go. Two days later in Costa Ricca the locals will rub coconut oil into your singed skin while you burn through the drug proceeds of #237541, and wonder if anyone is using your phone.

Resume

"You ever cook before?", she asked him.
"Yes. Every thing from fine dinning to fry cook. Up near Orr."
She looks up from the application in front of her. "The Damn?"
"No. Other places near there." He lists off the restaurants but she does not hear. She is staring into the eyes the color of the shallows of Pelican lake. Warm sand with flecks of algae.
"How do you cook walleye?", she asks.
"Pan fry it in a light season dust."
She is on the rocky island now, fanning the embers beneath the skillet with her cold bloody fingers. Hunger rumbles in her belly. The forbidden fish will fill her.
"You start on Sunday morning. Be here at 4:am."
He nods his dignified head. "Have you ever fished Pelican Lake?"
She smiles at him. He smiles back for the first time. They both know she can not cast that line.
She gives him a tour of the kitchen and his uniform. An extra hair net for his long dark hair.
"How long do I have you for?", she asks, wondering if he has a woman waiting for him up north.
"Excuse me?" he replies, with out a question in his voice.
"When do you go home?", she expands.
He pauses a long winter pause, "I have no home now. My tribe burnt it when I gave all my nation's money back to the tribe instead of the council."
She knew there was more to the story but did not want to hear.
"From the little island in the middle you can hear the lonely whistle of the train in town, can't you", she says and it is not a question.