A Seriers of Adventures or Nothing at All

Everything on the woman hurt as she squatted there, unsuccessfully trying to shade her head under the tallest weed in her local. And to top it off her allergies was causing her nose to run as steady as the corn harvester's continuous hum off in the far field to the east. She wanted him there already, to bring her a long cold drink, before she lost conscious, and to carry her broken body back to the cab of the truck. But instead she kept crawling through the dirt, picking the hot little cabenara peppers, and stuffing them into the bottom of her baggy rolled up t-shirt. Soon she thought longingly, school would be out, and she would see his dirt bike raising puffs of dust as he zigged zagged his way to her.

"Hey. What's this? Is this a dirty little grub crawling through the field?."

He had startled her, coming from the opposite direction on foot. She wiped her nose on her grimy sleeve and looked up at Gunny where he stood behind her blocking the merciless sun from her with a half filled pepper basket in this thick arms.

"Got any water on you Babe?", her voice cracked.

His smiling face fell serious. "Mom. You. Know. You . Carry. Water. At all times!"

The teenager dropped his produce on the ground without a regard to the peppers that tumbled out and took the plastic bottle hanging from his belt. "Drink. Where is your water?"

The woman tilted her head back and guzzled the sweet tasting water he had handed her. She made a vague flail of her arm towards the farm's truck parked farther across the field at the rows end, and spilt the precious water down her front as she did so.

"You left your water in the truck?"

She nodded, sniffling and wiping her blushing nose as she did.

"If you had water in the truck, why didn't you just go get yourself some Mom?"

"It hurts too much to get up and walk."

The boy looked at her with his bright blue eyes but did not lecture her further. The novelty of having his mother at his job where he could tell her what to do was just too good a taste in his mouth not to savor. Gunny had worked on the farm since spring when his special education manager had told them they could not find him any summer employment the boy was qualified for. The owners had sized up Gunny as they shook his hand and hired him on the spot. He had wanted to work so badly, to be out of the house and not responsible to babysit, that he bicycled five miles to and five home from an eight hour shift daily before he was aloud the privilege to drive his dirt bike.

"Mom, you are mixing up the habenaro's with the cabenera's. Where is the list Gary gave you?" He held up two of the peppers from the basket she had dumped her shirt tails into and held them up to show her the difference.

Lynnae held up the scrap of cardboard and read out load to her dyslexic son the grocery list of produce they needed for the farmers market the next morning.

"What was your Dad doing when you got off the bus?", she asked him, although she knew full well the answer, as they both bent their heads over the basket to sort the mixed peppers.

"He was sitting out in the chicken coup, with the phone in front of him."

"Did he have his oxygen on?"

"No. You gotta pick faster there Mum, if we are to finish this before sun up."

"Yes Retard. I mean boss."

She had started calling him retarded soon after his little brother had been born and the specialists switched his handicap after his surgery's from physical to mental. But she made sure she called his brother retarded as well. She called his father retarded. And the cat. But most of all she called herself Retard. She knew sooner or later someone would use that word on him. But she would be the first, too suck any hurtful power out of it. And then she would laugh.

"Haaaha."

"Ugh Mom. You just wiped the snot off your sleeve across your forehead."

"It cools my retarded head."

"Did the prison call you yet Mom?"

"They called home and your Dad answered. He has called me out here a million times."

"Where is your cell phone then?"

"In the truck."

"You left it there so Dad doesn't bug you?"

"Yup."

"That's a jalapeno you have there now. How did you get that one mixed in?"

"It jumped into my shirt."

"Are you gonna take the job then Mom ?."

"They are going to call my cell and let me know if I have it."

"One the phone you left in the truck."

"Yes. I have a headache from the dehydration."

"You don't want that job very much do you Mom."

"Dad wants me to work. I need to be out of the house."

The young man left her to finish the peppers and loped over to the truck to retrieved her phone. It rang in his hand halfway back to her.

"If it is your dad, don't answer it."

"No, the number is 653 47... he faltered trying to get the numbers in their proper order."

"ANSWER IT!", she bellowed counting the rings.

"Ello", she hears. "Who is this? Who? Hang on. Mom it's Ga, Ghar, somebody for you." He hands her the phone after his unsuccessful attempt to pronounce the callers name.

"Lynnae, this is Gerald." Gerald's smooth voice rolls over her ears and down her body in a cool wave. She thinks of the time she had met him before, when she had been sitting nervously in the waiting room and she first saw him quietly standing there assessing her through the thick Plexiglas on the other side of the locked doors. He had the same calm composer as he walked her through the cafeteria, past the hard jumpsuit clad men, past the serving lines into the guts of the kitchen. It was amazing she could focas on his level voice when he showed her the contraband spears the convicts had fashioned out of the three foot long balloon whisks sharpened into a multi pronged shank over the sound of her own knees knocking together. She had stopped looking at anything else after that, except the armed guard she would have shadow her for her own protection.

The two of them loaded the corn trucks for an hour past sunset, until it was to dark to drive the bike without a headlight home, so the teenager helped his mother into the car and drove her so her tired legs would not have to work the petals.

They walked into their bright kitchen, welcomed by the puffing sound of the oxygen machine in the corner and her youngest son's voice reading his homework out loud to his father.

"Your home late, I was getting worried about you two."

"I hurt."

"That's cuse Mom is slow and doesn't know her veggies."

"I can make you guys a can of soup it you want." He looked up at her wilted dirty shape hopefully. Hoping she would not make him get up and cook for her and hoping she had good news.

"I'm going to have left overs", Gunny said.

"I'm going to have water and a shower", the lady answered, unable to meet his eyes disappearing upstairs avoiding his questioning and letting the kids scavenge the three of them a dinner.

She stood in the dressing room in front of the large mirror the next day and started into her refection. Her hair was sun bleached and her face burned and the business suit hung loose on her body. She undid the pinstriped trousers and let them slide to pile at her feet. She kicked them off, too stiff to bend over and pick them up, she left them where they lay. She walked out of the department store without trying on any more clothes.

As she drove home she returned Gerald's phone call. Because life is a series of adventures or nothing at all. The challanges just change.

nature 'coo

Les Survivor man
you are one dirty wild Cunuck
I wanna cook you poutsine

Becoming the Man

Day six: She drank her morning tea, while comfortably propped on her new bum enhancer and perusing the web site of state correctional institute. The total population of the facility containers more people than the town she grew up in. More people than the town she grew up in and the next, bigger town over, the one with a high school, two restaurants, a cafe, and three bait stores. She wondered if she could do this job. The amount of work may be overwhelming but it was the fact she would be feeding very very bad people. The type of people she would consider letting starve before throwing a crust of bread. Her last job she spoon fed the over privileged lamb chops and prime rib as they recovered. Now her challenges would be staffing the cooks who taught the inmates how to cook mystery meat as a trade. Paedophiles where the last peoples, in her mind, that should be in a kitchen. Six months ago ,the night manager who her last company found out had a molestation record had been fired. He had supervised the high school kids, but managed to creep even the adults out.
She got into her jeep and drove to the compound to take a closer look. She had always driven by it on the freeway, tucked discreetly behind a thin grove of pine trees. The chain link fence had always be noticeable, if you looked, but she just preferred to look away and pretend it did not exist. Today she drove slowly around it's perimeter until she came to a wide shoulder, where she pulled over to stare up at the razor wire and drum her fingers until the security truck with two guards in it on the other slowed to a stop on the other side of the wire. She pulled away then, not to fast, as she did not want to cause suspicion. As she headed back north and glanced in the review mirror, she thought she could do this. Vanity be damned. She had no choice, with her husband sick, and the bills coming in, she would be the man. As long as she could always drive away.
She drove back into her hometown to the salon, and spent the last of her cash cutting off her hair and buying a suit.

Aftermath

Day four: Finds the girl, showered, dressed and standing in the doctors office in front of the illuminated x-ray machine. The good doc has left her waiting in this room far too long and she has flicked on the machine to examine herself from the inside alone. She stares, open mouthed and horrified at what she is seeing on the bright screen. The door opens and she turns, mouth still agape as the Dr enters the room. He hastily flicks off the softly humming screen, aggravated by her unautorized action. They head for the consulting table with her medical file tucked under the care givers arm, safety out of her reach. But she does not want to witness his sympathetic side step jig when he musters the courage to break the bad news to her. Her eyes have confirmed just what she did not come to hear.
"You know there are treatments, that might help you," he said. "Prosthetics."
With a grandiose wave of the hand, he flicks the black and white x-ray on. Her eyes are automatically drawn to the abnormality in her upper abdomen. "What did those people do to me when they did that experimental transplant? What exactly did they put in me?", she though as her raised her accusatory finger at the odd shapes outlined on the screen, but the correct answer came to her. "BRA HOOKS!", she blurted, now fully understanding what she was looking at.
Good thing there was a professional in the room at that time to point out the spare bone she had grown that was protruding out of the bottom left on the image, causing her pain. A tail is a thing of nature she thought. A tail she can live with, with a shoe lift and a butt pad to sit on and the occasional adjustment. Might even put a stop to the headache and violent PMS. But treatment could not cure the massive amount of gas that the doctor further went on to point out in the x-ray. So the gimpy munkay shoved the new lift into her sandal, left the doctor a silent but deadly bomb and clumped out of the room.

Day five: After refusing to repeat the hated unemployment mantra Hubby has been coaching her *, she finds herself somewhere south of the cities, in some parking lot that had she been paying any attention, might have learned was Burnsville, or Owatona, had she not been stuffing her mouth with fresh apples, trying to eat them faster than the driver, while pretending to ask pertainet questions while longing for her new friend butt pad. **Her Cell phone rang after the forth hour of down pour and she watched the current wash her new lift out of her sandal as she stood by the sweet corn counting out a dozen perfectly ripe ears to the Gucci wrapped Asian lady. She briefly considered chasing it down stream to the lower end of the parking lot, racing the spongy pad to rescue it before it reached gutter but it was more important to make the correct small talk with her hopefully new employer . Later, as she shivered like a dirty wet mop on the edge of the truck seat as it bounced on the detour that added another miserable hour to her day, she wondered if it was too late to crawl to the edge of the river, where interstate 35 had collapsed and throw her self in, and damn her state of being.

*I am unemployable. The lowliest of the low. A determent to my honey.Therefore I must do whatever he asks.
**It was a farmers market damn it. My teenager's place of employment who love my son for his work ethic was short on help as their employee's have returned to collage, needed someone to fill in. I like to pretend that I was working at "advertisement and marketing", but it was a damn farmers market. I did it to get away from hubby and his mantra.

to be continued....

These Days

Day one, the flip out:

Illogical and unreasonable yelling occurs. Resignation letter is carefully written. OK, "I quite." was scribbled on a piece of scratch paper and left on bosses desk. Girl slams off before her shift starts. Her feeling of triumph and freedom ends five minutes after she pulls out for the last time and remembers her knives she left behind. Hubby has zero sympathy and yells for rest of the now benefit, medically uninsured day.

Day two, withdrawal.

She does not get out of bed due to migraine. Fear and remorse for her action fill her along with pain. She wants the call from her boss apologising for his misunderstand to come so she refuse it, or just go back with her tail somewhat between her legs, but her head high, but it never rings, except for the telemarketers which only aggravate her and keep her from sleep.

Day three: continued degeneration.

She looks at a million different job listings on the Internet and applies for a handful. She has not yet changed out of her pajama's. Her best leads are at an all male corrections institute for sex offenders,(hey it is a state job with very good pay and bennies) or working with the elderly. When her teenage son offers her a temp. job at his work, she laughs. And takes it. Manual labor here she comes.

North of Now

On the second day of her vacation, the girl stopped struggling with the rock hard clay she was chiseling at and leaned against the sweaty shovel. She was beginning to miss the job she hated. She paused her laboring, adjusted her pony tail, and pondered what her co harts were doing without her.
"Anywhere in the world."
"What?"
"Anywhere in the world you want to go."
The girl hurriedly stood up straight and took her foot off the shovel. She had not wanted him to catch her daydreaming when there was so much ahead for her to do.
"Next year I will send you anywhere you want to go on your vacation."
"Why next year?", she asked wishing she was anywhere on the face of the earth but standing along side the half finished chicken coup.
"Just figure out where you want to go and we will book it now, this year, before your vacation is over, so you are set for next summer."
"Let's just get this never ending building project of your done first. I have all winter to search on the Internet and plan for next."
"No- do it now. You can use up all my frequent flier miles and you and the boys can go where ever your heart desires."
"I can do that later", she argued.
"They might not be available for you later", he persisted.
The girl lay down her tool and walked into the house to shower of the dust and the tears before reaching for the computer he had bought her last Christmas. She stared at the blank search engine screen and tried to come up with a destination. She used to dream of the exotic travels she would make. Her mind when back to how happy she had been last year, north of the Arctic circle. He was not with her then, but they could talk every night. She tried picturing a bright, tropical adventure, but a trip to the center of the earth's magma core could not warm her now. So she Googled her own house to see if any sign of him could be seen from space now. Or ever.
Later that night he asked her again where she wanted to go.
"Alaska.", was her answer.
"Alaska? You never wanted to go to Alaska when I used to talked about going there."
"Alaska is different now."

Top Reasons I belong in a Nut House

13- I hold long deep detailed conversations with dead people but only in my sleep.

12-Signing all my checks "Mrs. Rock".



11-My time needs better skedualing.



10-I work only to irritate my boss.



9-So I'm compulsive obsessive.



8-So I'm compulsive obsessive.



7-My other personality is named Hermione Erica Granger Kane.



6-My last visit just seamed right.



5-I spent 200. bucks on maple syrup cuz the tree's on the bottle make me feel more green.



4-I 'm into the smell of rubber.



3- I did so write those lyrics for Dr. Demento, damn it. Haa- Haa- Hee-Hee!



2- I am able to inject my own insulin before shock therapy.



1- The three week cold war I held with that foreign service dude that provided my Internet service.

i won the battle i did! my refusal to talk to that non english speaking dingle berry worked. i win!

so what if my hubby was forced to do it, my stubbornness won in the long run

Two Different Things

What I thought:

Oh just shut your mouth. You seen this coming. How long have the experts been telling you to change your habits. You did this to yourself. Act that way and what did you expect? You had plenty of warning. How many hospital visits? You are weak. You had better not try to blame this on me. How many times and ways did I try to help you? You didn't earnestly try a bit, much less listen. I did it, what was stopping you. You have no control. Have this procedure done and it doesn't change you.

What I said:

Stomach bypass surgery can be dangerous.

Munkay Do List

Today's to-do list.




1-Hypnotize cat into foot warming snack fetcher.


2-Finish memorizing the Gettysburg Address as promised to 7 th grade teacher.


3-Open "Teach Yourself Belly Dance" video. Close shades.


4-Transport dryer lint wad to attic for added insulation benefits.

5-#69 from "The Joy of Cooking." Osso Busso .(come up with innocent sounding description for calf calve.)


6-Find the perfect chocolate covered fathers day gift. Wrap in crumpled paper, shove in mailbox. Call hubby, inform him his gift has finally arrived. Open and taste to make certain it is still good.


7-Get pesky restraining orders lifted.


8- Write thank you letter to life coach. Set on fire and use to smudge the failure stink off self.

8-Decide which kid(s) to sell to the gypsies.

8-Phone in sick. Time how long it takes boss to realize in his panic I'm not scheduled.


9-Practice counting skills.


10-Revise semi hostile chicken coup. (go ahead, try to figure that one out.)


11- Sit down kids, tell them of their true father. Call the Rock and demand back child support.

All in Her Head

As she slumbered deeply, she watched herself at her job. It was pre service and she a frenzied dynamo, throwing direction, matrix at the saute station, creviche juxtapose, all the while eating strawberries. She halts abruptly pitching a half devoured berry across the room into the Hobart. "Strawberries! I'm allergic to damn strawberries."
When she awoke her strangely fresh welt covered red blotchy face looked as if it had been in the garbage disposal.
She spend her day off hiding in her house trying not to even think of work.

This First Week of Summer Vacation Vote

Here you go and you didn't even have to ask for it, this weeks voting choices for you pleasure.


"Dear Boss", letter number two.

3- Last Saturday I filled the salt and pepper shakers, cleaned out the walk in cooler, drove over to Wisconsin and checked out the empty restaurant my realtor told me about, and still made it back in time to do the prime rib. But hey, no one was around so.

The Beast

He wasn't born inherently evil no. I think he has been sculpted. Then again, I was there at his birth, holding his mothers legs when he change his mind about coming out. After the doctor made the cut so the lazy little bastard could have an easier time emerging, he just waited and let her bleed.


Push

If I close my eyes and picture Antonio Banderas, I might be able to let him do it. But he always catches me off guard and I get hit face first with his pepper breath and stubble burn. And then I run to the nearest sink when he is done
and scrub his kisses off.

Year of the Chicken

He looked at her with a pleading look in his eyes. "Chicken?" he asked her with as much desire as he was capable. Old fool , she thought, why does he even ask. "No. Not now, not ever."

There you go. First fifty voters will receive my usual bribe of partial nudity and home stilled liquor. Vote me up.

Better than a Spider

Ten things I've had in my bathtub recently.

10- Ten pounds of live crayfish.*

9-Cramps

8-Louise Eldrich

7- Hot fudge sundae

6-"a calming, soothing, exfoliating experience"

5-The twelve bar blues.

4-A clumsy scared wet cat named Tippy

3-Two dozen baby chicks, six ducks.**

2-Worlds biggest clog left by stinky poultry.

1- Peace

*What is a valentines day without some crawly pinchy things?

**Your bathroom heat light doubles as an incubator

April's Scars

i get home at night
and get my kid to bed
wanna call him up
just to hear his voice again
so i cut myself instead

it's hard
so goddamn hard
trying to get it all done
i use a knife
sweet shiny knife
because i don't have a gun

the office woman hate me
talk shit they don't know
i do their work for them
and smile when i'm done

the bills are piling up
in fact they are choking me
i don't want my baby to go
i don't do it for the blood
but the pain to flow

Word Thief

I'm sorry Annie. When I clicked on your link I was mad to see my words there. Very mad. Then I realized you wrote them first, and I erased them. Again, my deepest apologies.

*this sincere apology was not copied from any one's blog, but check all links and sidebars just encase it was so good it stuck in my fuddled head head

**not once but twice did I use Annie's stuff- arrgh I'm never reading anything again

Helping Out Kerry

The woman made a dash across the bumpy unpaved parking lot in the down pour and ducked her head to avoid the large dripping basket of bright red double inpatients hanging from the porch. She smoothed the stray hairs that had jiggled loose from french knot she had earlier fussed with back into their rightful place and peered through the large cedar shuttered windows into the brightly light dinning room within. The tables inside filled with couples or family's all looked happy, warm and dry. Waitresses were trying to make busy work of delivering the few platters of thick sizzling steaks and frosted cocktails, or baskets of burgers with cokes. It was not yet the dinner rush hour, so the atmosphere inside was of jovial anticipation. She was in no hurry to enter the restaurant, wanting the first impression she made when she opened the door to be that of a confident professional. A young, sexy, confident professional. The exact opposite of what she was feeling on the inside. She saw the manager entered from the back kitchen and make a quick survey of the room with his eyes. The lady hastily stepped back farther into the night shadow. Anyone looking out into the night would not have been able to see her soggy wet shape , but she was scared. She did not want to be there.

Kerry stood a couple seconds longer, before stopping a passing server and starting a conversation. It was obvious the aproned young girl was not interested in talking and had wanted to go about her duties or chat with the other waitresses. The woman squinted in, wanting to see him better, wishing she had not been so vain as to leave her glasses at home. He had put on a little weight around the jaw line and perhaps his middle too, but she had never seen Kerry in a tie before, so she hoped it was just an illusion. In her memories, Kerry wore his usual white apron over his Hardrock t-shirt and jeans. Not that she thought of him often in the years that passed. The woman smiled a little to herself, he was waiting for her and wanting to make a good impression, she decided, as she saw him straightening a stack of menus and checking his watch. She did not want or need this job at all, but her son did. Her son was the reason she was there.

She had worked with Kerry years ago right after the boy was born, while she was still in school. Back shortly after their boss had walked in early and caught Kerry snorting lines of cocaine off the office desk and Kerry had turned himself around. Then a girl, she would bring the baby in with her to that other restaurant on the lake before her waitress's shift. Her baby on hip, she would set all the tables for the night, before her boyfriend picked the infant up on his way home from work. She would sit at one of the tables every night getting ready, folding fold napkins and Kerry would write out the nightly specials and play peek a boo with her kid. Kerry had liked her boy then, back before any of his developmental delays where apparent, or perhaps Kerry had just liked her enough it didn't matter to him. Or maybe because Karry was just that nice. After work, the two of them would sit and listen to the nights band, Kerry drinking only a diet soda, and the girl a tomato juice. And when any of the local guys would come over and try to hit on her, Kerry would chase them off, because he had wanted her for himself. She was lonely then for company, she had nether encouraged him or discouraged his attention. The baby, cooed with delight when Kerry was around.

She had seen the ad in the paper advertising for a cook in his restaurant. The woman did not want the job. It was below her now to read tickets and fry burgers, but it would get her back into his kitchen. Her old friend was surprised when she phone him and asked for a part time job. Kerry knew she was a hard worker, even though her waiting table days long over, he was glad to have her help out. Kerry just did not yet know she had planned on teaching her son to do the job instead.

A couple walked around her and pushed open the front door. She saw Kerry turn towards the rush of cold wet air with an expecting look on his face that fell once he realized the were only strangers. Inhaling a deep breath she straightened her back , sucked in her gut, before walking over to the large wooden door and placed her hand on the knob. Then she turned on her heel and ran back into the raining night.

Working Dogs

On my day off I should be able to sit in the recliner wearing my grubby jammies and watching mindless TV until mid afternoon, I mean it is my house. But Willy and Marco were staring at me. There they were, right out side my patio windows, looking in longingly all bug eyed and limp tongued, filling my precious time alone with guilt. It was not me, the two of them wanted however, but I would do.
I walked over to the door and opened it. "Come on boys, get in here." In danced the pair happy for my company. Willy and Marco are the neighbors little mutts, and when their "boys" head off for school, they go in search of replacement boys.
Their idea of a good time didn't involve cable.
I didn't feel like frisking around the yard right then so I took them into the kitchen for a snacky snack.
When I opened the fridge door, out toppled the open can of cranberry's left over from Thanksgiving and hit Willy smack on his little terrier head.
"YIP", exclaimed Willy in surprised pain.
"Yip", agreed Marco with Willy being the alpha canine and all.
"Shit." I said. "Now I have to clean this rotter out."
Now I have a very detailed and organized method to clean out the fridge that consists of three categories.

THINGS THE DOGS CAN EAT

THINGS THAT CAN EAT THE DOGS

SAVABLES

We were making good progress on this undertaking, after I made sure Marco licked all the blood colored cranberries off Willy's head, until I knocked over what I think was a large container of chili off one of the upper shelves to splatter over the bottom of my fridge.

I stood there a while angerly cursing the mess I had created while the dogs sat and looked up at me with their heads tilted sideways and their ears perked up expectantly.

"Boys. You got me into this. If you can clean each other, you can clean my fridge."

I'll let them out soon.

Mother is a Tingle

Do you feel that? Oh yeah I do. My spidey senses are all a tingle. In T-minus two hours forty five minutes I load the SUV with pre ads and ado's and head to the Spiderman Three movie. In has been quite a long time since I have been out after dark. I am unsure what to do with myself. I'm sure it will all come back to me and I'll behave appropriately and all but what if I revert back to my party mode? Close all borders and hide the whiskey and firearms, I'm stepping out.
Oh wait, I'm taking a car load of kids.
Which one of you will hide Mama's bail money?

Lost in Translation

Items found on Finnish menu's.

Shrimp and crap salad for two.

Grilled pork shop.

You can have crap on your pizza.

We give you water only when you ask.

Dead snails from Åland in garlic and butter sauce.

The cock is recommending today's beef.

We can serve your steak with much blood, some blood, or well-done.

Ice cream with warm bear halves and toffee sauce.

Finnish mushroom salad - wild, salty and sticky mushrooms with cream sauce and pickles.

Mexican burrito with mutilated chicken meat and salsa.

Try traditional Finnish pee soup.

We can bring the nuts and drinks to your room (room service card). Drink something if you want (room service card). On our breakfast table you will find the cheese, the meat and some others.

Omelet is made with recent eggs from a local farm where the chickens are alive.

This week is "bird meat week" but we also have a good selection of mammal meat.

Japanese guests can have traditional breakfast with stinky rice and fishes.

Tar ice cream - Finnish special. Good for people who eat tar and lingon berries.

Children's hamburger is served with the French Pizzas. After clock 21 are not. Sorry.

Meat with sweat and sour sauce.

If I were to come across any of these dishes on a menu, I would demand to see the cock immediately.

Couldn't See The Rose For The Thorns

He looked at me and said, "I wish I could find a girl just like you", in a voice full of longing.
"Why not me, I'm right here", I thought with exasperation.
"I'm going out to finish the yard before I go", I replied.

Friends of the Earth

My friend Laney and I were out in my back yard the other night enjoying the fine spring weather by the light of fire cast off by burning my pile of old tires.

"Jeese", Laney said, "This is the life."

"Ain't it tho?" I answered. "Slosh some more of that there diesel on the fire now."

"You got it Munkay. While I'm at it I'll get a start on this pile of insulation. This pink stuff makes such pretty rainbow flames."

"Ok, kick some more of those tar shingles off our old shed to turn it up a notch"

"I love the outdoors", Laney proclaimed.

We sat back once again to relax and enjoy the black angle wing plumes billowing out high above our heads reaching it's strangle hold towards the stars.

"Yeah man. I'm all about this county living", I replied, stuck by the sheer wonder of nature as soon as the oily smoke wafted away from my face.

"Too bad we always have to wait till dark to do this. Everyone should be able to enjoy our beautiful black mushroom cloud", Laney admonished tossing her empty beer can into the flames.

"Oh no, my friend. The old ways are gone. All that is left is that we remember the rituals of the past. The traditions of our fathers, and our fathers father, and our fathers fathers fathers
be fore.."

"Alright Already!", Laney shrieked wistfully at me.

"Those were the good times," I continued for the benefit of my kids who had pulled up the car seat next to me and handed us fresh beer.
"Piles of garbage in your yard ment you were affluent, and could afford to buy new stuff see. The bigger your dump, the more you had. Family would get together with their hauling crap. Trucks by the numbers carrying all sorts of junk. You never heard of some kid getting locked in a freezer hell no. We'd burn the shit out of them, or toss them in the lake."

"My dad", Laney's eyes grew bright at the mention of water, leaned forward staring hard at the smoldering goo, "Hell he'd have us kids fill up the back of his old Ford, and then we'd watch him load it on his fishing boat..."

"Laney's dad, fished for a living. Buzzy was one of the last commercial fishermen on Lake of the Woods", I told the boys.

"You remember my dad?", Laney asked me, her eyes glistening from the memories or the gas.

"Course I remember old Buzzy. How did he ever get that name?"

"He used to drive his fishing boat full throttle drunk as a skunk . But we never called him that. He was always just dad. But that is a different story."

"Go on", the boys chorused, eager to hear more.

"Anyway dad would load up everything he couldn't burn on the back of his truck as all us kids watched.."

"How many were in your family Laney?"

"There were thirty-seven of us kids, being Catholic and all. And then my gramma who had the fishing resort always had lots of junk."

"Laney you had a big family", I reminisced. Laney's face had brighten and appeared young again before our very eyes as she continued with her story.

"Us kids would watch my old man, drunk as he could be, toss shit off the side of his boat for hours. Never let us help a once, would he. He was scared one of us would fall in and drown. We all would crowd around him as he talked.."

"He could talk and toss?"

"Talk and toss. "You kids stand back your getting to close to the edge now, eh." And we would answer him, "Close eh?" So he'd know we were all safe."Fish, drink and toss shit, Buzzy could. But he just couldn't swim."

"He was a craftsman, you dad."

"An artisan."

"Eh."

"Eh."

"They state banned commercial fishing to boost the tourism up north."

Laney when all quiet for a while. Then she stood up and grabbed the computer monitor next to her and hoisted it up high above her head before throwing it into the fire where it crashed sending an impressive amount of yellow sparks into the night air.

"That was the shame of losing our God giving right to get rid of our junk. We picked up after our selves didn't we?"

"That we did, Laney, that we did."

"Now there is trash everywhere. Broken glass, don't get me started on graffiti."

"Eeh."

"Eh."

No Comment

I cannot leave comments on all my beloved blogs. At first it didn't bug me, but now it is driving me nuts. I feel so left out. Maybe it is a conspiracy, a conspiracy set up by the man, the government to keep me down. I will not be represst no. Just you wait till on of my kids get home.

Faster Than Dropping An Anvil On My Noggin

Twelve things that have a calming effect on me.

12-Walking wolf like in circles around my bed after a warm beer bong of Jack.
11-A properly fitted straight jacket.
10-Binge eating.
9-Crafting voodoo dolls from my bosses hair.
8-Spooning the UPS man. "ssh, promise to bring me my package from Amazon tomorrow and I'll let you up."
7-Doing the kunilini with my cat.
6- This video,http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WrXhLGLO0RA
5-Huffing a Pam/powered sugar cocktail.
4 -The memory of dancing naked in the fountains at St. Petersburg. Not my memory, but a good one none the less.
3-Visualizing the graduation of my youngest offspring. Or him at least sleeping by himself.
2-Immobilizing the behemoth wind chimes hubby crafted and hung under my bedroom window.
1-Having the Rock light that last cigarette.

A Page From Her Biography

"The girl, looking at the components before her, tied back her long blond hair with a ribbon and set her mind to the task before her. The boy standing beside the apron clad girl watched her movements with a hopeful look on his young face. He knew she was about to cook up a storm when he saw her secure her wayward locks tightly into place with the familiar black string."
"Mom. You are not Violet Baudelaire. And stop narrating what you are doing. I'm right here."

Talking out loud helped me to focus on what I was trying to accomplish. I could so easily been distracted by people watching and had too much fun. It was after all, a cooking competition, serious important business in those parts. I had thought I was a shoe in for the little gala, after all I am a professional.

"Baby, when I win the trophy, I'll let you polish it."
"How do you pronounce this dish again Mom?"
"Shut up K2. Go hang out in the bar."

The contest was up in dense Scandinavian country on "the range" in an old bar/hotel. The dish was a Finnish American one I had never tasted and didn't know how to pronounce. Mojakka. But I had read some recipes and came up with my own version. Everyone who I had made taste it had told me I was a sure thing.

"That lady stole my spot. I've gotten that table every year. I'm not sure she is even Finnish, she has red in her hair."

The local cooks pretty much ignored any social niceties with my son and I, intruders that we were. Except to elbow us out of the prime tables, and sneak curious glances at us out of the corners of their eyes. Last years winner did come over to stand back from our Marimecco decorated area and stare disapproving with a disgusted sneer on her face.

"What are you doing?"
"My dish is named, "Finnish Woman Seldom Stew."
"Yeah, I meant what's in it?"
"Crab claws, mussels, shrimp, steamer clams, Finnish fingerling potatoes, leeks, sausage, wine..."
"Oh seafood?"
"Yes.'
"You know I won last year."

We were the only ones to cook our entry right there. The other contestants lugged in their crock pots of pre made mojokka . The judges seriously asked if they were to eat the shells in my dish. The emcee invited all contestants and their family's up on the stage for the award ceremony. I stayed behind and continued to pass out samples of my stew until right before the grand announcement. From the back of the room, I could see my son had positioned himself directly in front of the emcee, looking up at him with a confident expecting look on his grinning mug. Our names were not called. My son's crest fallen face was that of incredulous disbelief. Seeing the look on my son mirrored how I hurt I was feeling, worse than losing the competition. I hope I just hid it better.

"Mom, Did that mean we did not win? How can that be? Are they just saving the grand prise for us?"
"No baby. We just didn't win this one."
"We were pearls before swine!"
"K2- that was not a nice thing to say. Where did you come up with that one?"
"In the bar."

The judges and sponsors send me a nice condolence letter thanking me in participating in the competition and explaining that although my mojakka was good, the judges found it too busy.

I had thought I had really lost when I had seen the disappointed look on my son's face. I never wanted him to think of me in a loser way and hope I never cause that look in any ones eyes. He was not disapointed in me just the judges. But I won in his reaction after our losing.

K2 tied the condolence letter around a handful of fire crackers and set them off in an empty Dinty Moore can with glee.

Thank You Bottom Lip

It is no longer midnight in the kitchen of good and evil. Thanks to my bottom lip. Who would of thought? Not me that's who. Hard work, over time, intelligence and a little dedication, is now out the door. When words turned to push causing shove, I clenched my fists. Good thing I didn't take the swing I was planning. A single tear did my work for me. My boss is on his knees. Goodbye tough girl. Hand me my velvet gloves.

Please.

Everything Changes

The cities just aren't want they used to be. Everyone carries handbags. They have too to go with the designer duds. There was a time when we just carried our drugs around in our baggy cargo pockets without a thought. And it was a hospital after all. Drugs just aren't as much fun as they used to be hey. And the damn pick up truck. In the day, cursing and fist swinging would have been appropriate, all done in an intensely vengeful manner. Someone would have gone to jail, instead were we ended up. Hand bags and pick up trucks. Everything changes.

Fin Up

Because of this video, everyone wants to be a Fin.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DDhvRvAKxrA&mode=related&search

Admit it. You were tapping your toes there. If your having a Saint Urtho's day drink right now, you might even dance.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IxhjGmJM4kU&mode=related&search

And by now you might even get competitive and hoot and twirl.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lTTfuJMn1ig&mode=related&search

But do not go overboard and dress in flannel and dude up as a techno cowboy.

Twisted dang Ru ski's want to be Fin.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7InlXuDgLiY&NR

Buy now you can't get this song out of your head right? Even gay Estonian men love this song.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=en3CUhhEwOU&mode=related&search

Politicians feel the far away pull of Finnish dance

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=doGs5_MED3w

It the craze in ski clubs and raves

.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H5BbBeqBIbQ&NR

But those damn Irish jiggin fools should leave a perfectly good drinkin polka song the hell alone.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=082WqavlcqI

Save it for your own sissy flute blown holiday red fools.

Have a happy Irish free St. Urtho's Day. Polka on.

Spiders on Drugs

What I watch when work gets me down.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sHzdsFiBbFc

Hello, The Dinning Room Has Foor to Ceiling Windows

As I drive up the long tree lined private drive to work, I come up behind a silver grey van. It is one of the company's generic looking vehicles sans any recognizable logo visible to protect the inhabitants identity. We are all about anonymity here, that is what set us apart from other rehabilitation centers. You never hear of media leeks when the rich and famous stay here. People come here for results, not for publicity. The patents want attention yes, but not publicity. But some don't want to be here. Their addiction is so strong they would rather be doing disgusting and despicable things to continue the slow poisoning of their lives. They are fast suicide failures. The person in the van ahead of me, doesn't want to be here. I can tell by the flailing of limbs and rocking of the vehicle ahead of me, he doesn't want to be here. Today, I don't want to be here.

Sometimes, they just plain run. Addicts have flown in from other countries and bolted at the airport, never to be seen again, and the van comes back empty. Sometimes, I long for empty.

When the patients are first admitted, they are a mess. Some do not even remember the first week here. At that point they are non-identities. I never see them at this point of their recovery. Their food trays of bland easy digestible food is sent straight to their rooms. Their appetite is for drugs not food. Often their trays come back untouched. Except sometimes, their plastic silverware comes back with traces of blood. Sometimes, when I am sweating blood back in my hot kitchen, I dream of a nice quiet room.

They shuffle into the dinning room, after a week in detox, with sour looks on their faces. They are not feeling well yet, their self steam low, and they are angry.
"Good morning. Are you ready for some breakfast?"
"Fuck you."
"You're welcome"
"No. Man. I didn't say thank you. I said fuck you."
"Eggs Florentine?"
"Shit, you dumb bitch, just give me some food."
"Fuck you."

We are supposed to be courteous at all times to our guests. They are sick and trying to get better. But out in the real world I would not put up to being talked to in that manner. That man was there only because he shot his crack dealer and missed. It was probley the first time someone told him to fuck off as she smiled. I think I meant it more than he did.

By week two the patients are on the upswing. Mostly. They are more clear in their thinking. They are faking illness to be taken to the local emergency room for prescription drugs, and rowing boats across the lake to the local bar. Some bribe the teenage servers for a fix. A few try eating paint chips. They have access to metal silverware now, too dull to cut themselves with, but they try anyway. When they whine for painkillers for their fresh scratches, it gives me the urge to jam a fork into a light socket just to show them how. But I don't. I feed them ice cream and wait for their brain freeze to quieten them.

His life was in the shitter, stuck here in rehab. After his thorthed attempt at hanging himself when his shower head broke, as it was designed to do, he took off bare assed naked across the frozen snow covered lake, hoping to let nature take her course and do his dirty work. I do not know who had the privilege of chasing the wet fool off the ice . But we the staff laugh at his folly. We have too. The last successful suicide was one of our own. A grad student who was smart enough to use a deer rifle.

When they reach me at my kitchen, they are through the program and are clean. They are full of gratitude and hope fullness. For them, I am their new mother. I cook for them what comfort foods they crave and listen and listen without bias to their storeys. Sometimes they spend their free time in my kitchen with me. They talk and I chop. I do not give advise unless it concerns nutrition. Often they are scared of live outside rehab. I bring in the want ads and help them find safe places to live. I write down recipes and slip to them when they hug me good bye. A lot of the time, I wish I was the one leaving.

Vote for Munkay

Here is my pre daylights savings time, first sign of spring vote-a-puluza.



What Lisa Doesn't know:
Lisa thinks her silent treatment is hurting the chef, but actually the girl is into the welcome silence for a change. Yes, Lisa will be the first to break. She has never heard of sisu.

Hello, the Dinning Room Has Floor to Ceiling Windows,
His life was in the shitter, stuck here in rehab. After his thorted attempt at hanging himself after the shower head broke, he took off running naked across the snow covered lake, to let nature take her course.

Who's Shooting at Us in a Blizzard?:
The radio out of Manitoba announced the Trans-Canada Highway closed do to the storm. No big deal, the mother thought. We are safe and warm here in the fish shack. They continued to sit and stare down the holes in the twilight trying to see their bobbers as the wind howled with fury across the lake. BAM BAM BAM! "Run Kids!", the panicking woman shrieked. Out the door into the storm the three ran like blind mice. Later as they unwound their tangled lines from around their boots, Mom explained the phenomena of shifting ice.

Wide Awake:
"I don't know.", she sighed in a low voice as she stared out the window at the Wisconsin fields whizzing buy in a blur, "That sounds like a dream. I'm outta dreams."

There you go, vote me up. Winner gets a fresh cheese covered walleye dinner and the first viewing of my Polaroids.

Finnish Exports

Here's something to think about before you take your kids to the mall next December.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wzXJdIgAQs8

It's true, I seen it with my own eyes last summer,

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Z4OvK3Vn44&mode=related&search

I will never, spit, smoke, curse and drink again.

Fantisey Fantisey

Ten fictional characters I have crushes on:

1- The Sand Man

2-Jack Sparrow

3-Willy-E-Coyote

4-Firenze

5-Willy Wonka

6-Paul Bunyan

7-Lordi

8-The alpha lion on the Taco Bell commercials

9-Mr. Clean

10- Tyler Florence (Tyler is too good to be real)

A Perfect Ten

As we walked through the corridors of the grand old hotel the realtor spoke of how it would be perfect for apartments, six large or ten small. It would cost ten times the asking price to renovate the sagging beauty. As I looked in each of the faded bedrooms, I pictured the babies I could have, or adopt, ten times two would have fit. But it have to located ten yards farther off the road. Looking out the kitchen windows onto the lake, I pictured the restaurant I would start there, if I could fit in ten more parking spaces. The thought of the neglected building housing the handicap ten years prior broke my hear ten times over. Insurance on a bed and breakfast would cost ten times the norm with the docks and unmanned beach. Ten months ago I would have opened a half way house to help the freshly detoxed addicts I care for, back before the ten new grey hairs I've grown a day. Ten years ago, when I had ten times the energy, and no business plan, I would have said, "It's perfect." Instead, I only eyeballed the realtor, who was smart enough not to push me, and thought, "He's OK."

Why I Love My Husband

Ten reasons I love him:

1: The crop circles he secretly mowed in our front yard using a push mower after we watched "Signs".

2: The time our grocery store ran out of my favorite brand of tea. Hubby drove to three other stores to try to find it. He now keeps a minimum of a dozen boxes on hand so I never run out.

3: His understanding of my relationship with the Rock.

4: He does my laundry.

5: The time he had his secretary pick up live sea food and drive it to the airport, then showed up at my place and cooked me dinner with champagne and the movie "Gone with the Wind." We never watched the movie.

6: He brags me up to his friends.

7: The time I told him I was pregnant with our last child and his immediate response was, "Will I have to love it like my own?"

8: He broke down a door to chase a ghost away from me. *

9: The ode's, poems, haiku's and drawings, of me.

10: The middle rows of the Witmans Sampler that he removed, and replaced with another "chocolate" thing before re wrapping and giving me my Valentines.



When we were living in an old nasty trailer after the house burned, hubby fell asleep at one end on the floor in front of the tv. I was sleeping in the bedroom at the other end. Hubby woke up and saw what he thought was me wearing a pink bathrobe standing at the end of the hall looking at him. He called my name when he realized I looked funny and the pink lady turned and moved down the hall to the bedroom. I woke up when Hubby came thundering down the hall and broke open the door without opening it yelling my name and turning on the light. I was not scared but spent the rest of the night calming him down. I believe Hubby saw something, but there is a non paranormal reason. This thought keeps me from the willies.

"If I Die Before I Wake..."

If I kick it in an automobile crash, do not leave flowers or wreaths or heaven forbid, my picture at the accident scene. Once I leave my body, I'm not going to be hanging around to see who shows up with prezies. And I don't want to cause another crash due to galkers. Just speed up to honor me.

Do not write sappy poetry on the anniversary of my pail kicking and print it in the classifieds. I'm going to be too busy to read the want adds where ever I am.

Stop by my house once and a while when my husband is not there to scare him for me. Leave one of my "Monty Python" movies playing in the DVD player. Write messesages in the dust from me. Things like, "Keep on the sunny side of life", from "Life of Brian." Or just plain "Boo".

Write my obituary unplugged. Do not write that I passed peacefully in my sleep, or was taken unexpectedly. "Munkay choked to death on chippies and bean dip in her recliner on Wednesday" will do, or "She bit it while hurling javelins at her neibhor's propane tank on Friday last. Some of us might miss her. Most are relieved."

Funeral. No. A nice dinner. Yes.

Burn me. Burn me immediately. Let no stranger wash me and pump anything into my corpse. No one is going to do my hair when I am gone. Give me too science for experiments, yes. Then burn me. In fact, I may start carrying matches myself in case I feel peckish.

I'm not going to leave a will. If you want something of mine, come right over and get it. Need directions? Just look for the big bon fire.

Susie's Day

I dreaded this day all year. I almost got out of it and all, with my changing my phone number, but being my neighbor she just stopped by, walked into my house and yelled at me for not being assessable. Then again, Susie is like that. She doesn't doesn't notice my boundaries. If my jeep is in my drive way, she will walk in. If she calls and I do not pick up, she will just show up in my house without knocking. "I tried calling and you didn't answer your phone." I like Susie, she is my friend. Sometimes I just don't want to be near Susie. Or anyone. "Oh yes, I heard the phone ring. I just didn't want to answer it." That offends Susie to no end. "But it was ME. Just wanted to see what you are up too." If there is a strange car parked in my driveway for overnight, she wants to know who's it is. But then again, she has hauled my garbage out to the end of my driveway on pickup day. Some time she would come and check on me, before my transplant, to make sure I was not unconcious on the floor.Her kids are grown beasts and her husband a lazy pig, but Susie is a good person.
"You got Wednesday off?", she asks. Why is she bothering to ask, I think, you know my schedule better than I do. "Yes", I replied weekly, knowing full well what she was up too. "Well then, your going with me to celebrate." I was cornered in my own home with no way out. "Susie, I'm in my jammie's here girl, do I look like a party?" "You'll get better. And put on some clothes. Answer your phone when I call you on Wednesday before I come get ya."
Her birthday lunch would be good, that I knew. But she would eat like a girl. A bland girl who avoided spice the way I avoid unnecessary chatter on my few moments to myself, and only ate a minuscule amount of salad and spend the rest of the day complaining of how full she was. And then she would drag me from potpourri shop to candle shop then to the incense store and the bed and bath, boutique to boutique trying her best to make a girl out of me, all the while my head would start to pound and my nose would a suffer few small aneurysms from the mass fake chemical aroma's infused into the decoratives I would have to admire for my friend and the board shop keepers entertainment. All the while I swear to myself and sneak furtive glances at my watch, and promise myself by next year I will make up an excuse not to do this again, and day dream of painting my bathroom light lacier blue or sitting in my chair watching "My life as a dog", while eating cardamon buns and not caring if I zip my jeans ever again.
But every year it is the same. The best part is when she pulls into my yard and I jump out of her truck clutching a gift bag of something stinky and floral I don't want and plan on chucking into the garbage as soon as I get in my door, but turn and chirp, "Hey Susie thanks. Thanks for taking me for a girl day for my birthday." And she answers with her big brown eyes shinning, "Yes, it was fun. Lets do it again next month OK?"
And I won't. Cuse I'm not a nice person, like Susie.

*not actual b-day and even tho it sounded lesbian (due to last post) wasn't

Man Made Lesbian

Ten of the gayest things I've ever done.

1-My use of Aqua Velva on my face instead of pour refiner.

2-Mmman boobs.

3-Wearing the clunky heavy soled clogs I wear to make me look taller.

4-My delight at playing a shepard in the Sunday school nativity play.

5-Polishing the chrome on my Harley instead of my nails.

6-The aerobic club I started that never made it out of the sauna.

7-The time I dressed up as Tommy Lee Jones in "Men in Black" for Halloween and wore my costume for a solid week.

8-The time I woke up in my girlfriends arms, tho I'm pretty certain we didn't really do anything homosexualist as it would of woke up the other girl in the bed.

9-The application I filled out for the bouncer position at "The Gay Nineties."

10-Following two feet behind the gay pride parade to pick up litter. In my clogs and Halloween costume.

So there now, I've confessed. How bout you?

Me Meme

So some woman think it is difficult to list ten positive things, (skills, physical attributes, and strenghs) about themselves. Not me.

1- I am coordinated enough to flush a public toilet while wearing high heels and a short skirt with my foot.

2- I am suave enough to maneuver through an entire cocktail hour/ dinner party while wearing one "water" saturated leather pump with poise.

3-I can hold really hot food in my mouth with out blistering.

4-I am fearless in the kitchen and bedroom. (Bathrooms scare the willies out of me. ssh.)

5- I am excellent at tv watching and always know just when to change the channel.

6-Spanking in public doesn't bother me at all.

7-The Stones wrote, "Little Rock and Roll", about me.

8- I always have bail money.

9- I have enough hair on my head to nest a million rats.

10- I rock ridiculous lists.

Bella

I heard Bella before I saw her.
Her jewels jingles and her scarf swished as she entered the room softly.
Then I smelled her.
Rare flowers and exotic essential oils wafted my nostrils.
She was right beside me at the counter so I turned my head and stared.
Holy shit she was beautiful.
Everything about her screamed money.
But in a soft melodious voice.
Even though the kitchen was closed I made her lunch.
As I would have done if she had spent the last two years of her life in a filthy gutter.
She would only eat salad.
"Keep me on my diet sweet love", Bella implored.
She's going to be a pain in the ass, I thought.
But she would come into the kitchen to hug and kiss me for every meal I made her.
I was sad she was leaving with the sun.
I bent down at the dinner table to whisper in her ear.
"I steamed you a shrimp stuffed filet of sole for dinner."
"And a fat free, sugar free raspberry panna cotta for desert".
Bella threw her arms around me and pulled me close to kiss me.
She stroked my cheek where her lips had been and left her hand there looking in my eyes.
If anyone else had done that I would have squirmed with discomfort.
"Mi amori. You are beautiful."
I think that's what she said in her language.
"I'm taking you home with me to my country, yes?"
"Yes."
I did not have the grace to hesitate.
Bella was bountryless bella.

Sea Monkey Panna Cotta

This is for Rootie, Batty, and Moon. The rest of you, avert your eyes and hum.

1 packet unflavored jello
1 packet freeze dried sea monkey (avalible in back of any comic book or specialtiy food store)
1/2 cup water
3 cups plain yogurt
clear plastic cups

Sprinkle jello powder over water in small sauce pan and let soften, about 5 min. Stir and bring just to a boil, until disolved. Let cool and add sea monkeys and yogurt, mixing well. Pour into plastic cups and chill until set, 2-4 hours. To unmold, dip cup in warm water and invert on dessert plate. You can serve this on a bed of lettuce with a lemon garnish, silmular to salmon mousse. Our gold fish love it. Or you can substitute cloudberry or lingonberry preserves in place of monkeys and garnish with warmed sieved jelly.

Because I make no attempt to change

This week you have not three but for choices to vote on, each of them true. One may however be a book.

Poh Poh Poh Poh and Poh:
Lord. Five of them. Is this a needed thing? If she where awake she might care, or at least put on some clothes. Ok officer, bam. I know the back door's here somewhere...

The New Beautiful:
She is one tall drink of water, plus a hiccup and a beltch to boot. Her awkwardness and shyness resins a painful self conscious echo in me. Kirstin will be my next best friend. She just doesn't know yet how much she will love Kirstin.

Tip O'Neal Speaker of the House
"I am but a poor squirrel trapped in a damn cat's body! And a vegan too. Let me out! Get Morry's people on the phone, I am a trans-creature with feelings! Meaoow!"

Bella:
She bent down to whisper in the sophisticated lady's ear. "Bella mi amour!" was the lady's response as she hugged her and kissed her. "I will take you home with me yes?" "Yes."

There you go. Vote now. First hundred to vote will receive my own personal recipe for sea monkey favored panna cotta and a picture of me lost in a deserted train station somewhere I wasn't supposed to be.
(And Yes Batty, My list does include my international love affairs, if not directly, the repercussions are at least mentioned in numbers 1-9.)

Top Ten List List

My New Years Resolution:
Make a list of the top ten lists I plan to write. (And once again swerve around that tricky paragraphs and punctuation thing.)

10- Top ten times I've had to have a forien object removed from my body.
9- Top ten ways to freak an angry person over the edge.
8- Top ten UFO/paranormal/bigfoot sightings.
7-Top ten get rich quick ideas by crazy er eccentric means.
6- Top ten scary places I've been lost.
5-Top ten times letters of apology I've written, or should have.
4-Top ten ridiculous lies I've told and gotten away with.
3-Top ten non fabric items I've made into clothes.
2-Top ten songs I've written around the word "off".
1-Top ten hot and torrid love affairs with the famous and infamous or just deluted.

Did I mention the Icelandic tried poisoning me with Gravlox? Watch you backs Siggi and Suri. I lived. Happy New Year.

Sobs of Joy

It was the of best time. It was the worst of time. She slammed her jeep door shut and shuffled up the slippery metal side ramp to her that led up her porch after work. A flash of white in the corner of her eye caught her attention, but she knew not to look directly at the wild cat in the shadows to frighten it further off on this dark night as she bent down and put her own dinner in it's plastic container on the porch. Everyone wanted something of her. She could see the warmth of the bright kitchen thought the window shades in the door, and paused, letting out a tired low sigh. Balancing her mail, her knives, and her nearly empty tea cup she reached for the door handle and hoped the calm scene before her would last when she entered the house. The handle would not turn, it was locked from the inside, so she pounded on the door. Then she kicked it. The kids had remembered to lock the door but forgot to turn on the porch light so she had to fumble in the cold dark for the keys hiding spot. Once her numb finger found it she walked back to her door and inserted the key into the knob just in time to have the door yanked open causing her to drop everything she had been vicariously balancing. "MOM'S HOME!", yells her oldest offspring, as he helps her scoop up the soggy mail. "Why didn't open the door for me?", she asks miffed. "I was doin something", is his answer. "The comfey chair, she notices, is pulled up close to the tv on the counter in the corner. "How was your day ?", he askes, ever the peacemaker. She is glad at least there is only one child in the room, when both her kids vie for her attention in the little time they have together and she is frazzled is when it is hard. "What is that smell?" The spaghetti she had made for her children's dinner before she left for work is now a hard black crust emitting a bad odor. At this point, hungry and exhausted she herself feels worse the residue on the bottom of her slow cooker. "Where's your little brother?", she asks, pulling a frozen veggie burger out of her freezer. "I love you mom. Up stairs." She puts the frozen patty on a cookie sheet and walks over to the her top oven and takes of the towel hanging on its door and tries to slide it in. The door will not close. The top lock is busted off. Her older son is back in front of the television already attention focused on it's screen, unaware of the volcano of rage building inside of her. In her mind she is picturing the culprit, worrying the lock handle back and forth, back and forth in his obsessive way until it snaps, and she snaps.
With all the energy of the suppressed anger left over from the stressful day, she bellows, "KID ONE YOU GET YOUR BUTT DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!"
As she listens to the sound of his feet run across the floor above her head she is thinking why not. Why not the expensive crystal viking thing on her mantel that she didn't like. Or the china jewerly box that only held bobby pins. Or any of the fradjile foo-foo stuff people seamed to think her liked or needed. Anything but her oven.
"Mom! You are home."
"WHAT THE HELL WHERE YOU THINKING BREAKING MY OVEN?"
He blinks, blue eyes wide, his mouth a perfect little o.
"Did you see the spit that just flew out of your mouth", he answers with a miming action as he distorts his face as if being hit slow motion by a wave of saliva.
When she let out a short laugh, the anxiety disappears from his face, but only to be replaced by a darker anger as she lunges toward him. Passion enciter, that is what he is.
"If you weren't so old, you'd just bend over and use the bottom oven."
Then he ran for his life.

Executive 5-7-5

Big guy only says yes
empty promises just mean nothing
the man has no balls


Time for you to pick this weeks voty vote. Here are your options. Are they real or all whoey? Vote me up!

Rich Bitches Have no Soul:
Sitting at an angle from her, she could not see R.B.'s face but she could not help to hear that pretentiously voice, as she sat in her cape and tried to avoid the look of disgust in her own eyes reflected in the mirror. "No, my husband and I plan on traveling for Christmas. I am thinking of meeting him down in Florida and just relaxing on the beach. That's if we can get someone to watch the kids." "WHAT THE HELL", she blurted out loud before she could stop herself. Leave your kids with a sitter while you sit on a beach without them. This is my holiday, she thought, an hour having my hair tamed. But the thought was interrupted by her cell phone. It was one of her kids, and she was glad to take the call...

Oh Say Can You:
Other men would have left the room. Or change the channel. Made some kind of distraction once the first few strains of the national anthem began playing. But he is not other men. No tears fell when one by one in high school he started attending his fallen friends funerals. He had finished collage early and then joined up. He hadn't cried at the bus station but his first wife and his mother had. Tears were no strangers to his eyes. He had bawled openly when he had lost his sons. He knew that it was expected of him to be sad when he buried the no account father who had deserted him early on, but he couldn't. He couldn't help that anymore than he could stop the patriotic tears from escaping the corners of his eyes as he sat and watched...

Sobs of Joy
He ran as if the devil herself was after him. He strong legs pumped like pistons and his arm tight at his sides, he could feel her hot breath on the back of his neck. He should have not looked back, when for an instant he could no longer smell her sulfur puffs. It was because she was gasping in, to summon her strength for the beller of rage she forced out as his wide terrified eyes met her red filled ones and he went down hard. She was on top of him faster than his own shadow. As he hit the floor his eyes rolled back in his head and his tongue slide the corner of his gaping mouth. He was faking it, and she knew he was sucking her joy out of his murder. The urge indeed her was to smack him as hard as she could, but instead she evilly danced her finger tips under his chin and along his neck until he giggled and got drool on her and she remembered she was mad. When the hardness returned to her face, he threw both his arms around her neck and wrapped his legs around her body, as he kissed as hard as any parasite could. He is the only one who can made her laugh and cry at the same time. He is very lucky to be fast...

A Race Trace Somewhere in Tijuana:
When the girl came to she was slumped against Primo's sour body. What she thought was Cleavers voice had woken her up, jabbering away too loudly in her spinning ear. His Speedy Gonzalez impersonation had gotten much better, she though before attempting to open her crust caked eyes. The she realized the voice was not beside her but all around her. It would be years later, as she stood in front of the steamer, waiting for the green beans to finish cooking, that she would understand the meaning of caliente...

The first fifty voter will win a dog chewed mini fruit cake. Hurry supplies are limited.

The Final Date Ever

She heard his voice through the bathroom wall they shared. She couldn't make out what he was saying. Sometimes, even after all these years, she still had a difficult time understanding her first born.
He repeated himself more slowly when she leaned against his bathroom doorway and he had taken the toothbrush from his mouth. "Will this get me a real job?", he repeted. The yearning sound to his voice echoed back the memory of the little tow haired boy hanging on the side of the pool she had bought him for his exercises. She had found a cheap little medallion at Walmart and had presented it to him for his swimming efforts. It was the first time he had been given an award and was delighted, but all too soon realized it was not real. "Will this help me to get a real metal?", her cherub had asked with the same longing.
The doctors had labeled him with those ugly words she did not want to hear. She would never limit him to them. But yet she had no answer ready for him then, and she didn't have one now. She had no idea how he would ever win a genuine trophy. And now he wanted a job more than anything.
He had been awarded his own real metal alright. On his own. And if it had been left up to her, he never would have gotten it.
She thought of the countless doctor visits to the children's hospital, and all the painful tests and surgeries he had gone through. The nights she would sit outside his bedroom door and listen to him toss around in his bed, vieing to find a comfortable position for his heavy legs to rest, waiting for the sound of velcro as he finally removed his casts to sleep. She would steal in a half hour later, when he was asleep and put them back on his legs and hope they would grow straight and strong as he slept. When the specialists recommended intensified therapy, she had put her own foot down and said no more.
He wasn't wearing his casts when he had listened outside her bedroom in the middle of the night and phoned the emergency unit and he didn't wear his braces when he unlocked the doors before he lead the EMT's to where she lay unconsciously convulsing on her bedroom floor. Without his braces, he had kept his baby brother from throwing himself on top of her, when the paramedic couldn't find her veins. He had even hid the Teddy bear the police officer had tried to distract the baby with, unknowing to the fact that stuffed animals terrified the youngest member of the family. He did even let the dogs bite the lewd officer who just stood watching the naked lady grand mal in front of her terrified kids.
He did however lean on his crutches when he received his heroism award,given to him by the chief of police in front of the entire school. When the news camera showed his spiderman brace, he was down right mad.
That night in the church the young man had worked non stop as he stood in one spot doing the dirty job of separating and scraping plates into the garbage before passing them across to Mrs. Krentz, his old third grade teacher to wash. It was the same mean old bitter woman that had ignored him and pretended he did not exist in her class room and had humiliated and antagonized his little brother. There had been a time when the mother would of gladly killed the old bitty, before she had realized the teacher had died long before, her souless shell just too lazy to fall over. The teenager had just pretended the corpse loading the dish machine to be invisible and had worked much faster than she so he could build a wall of china between them.
She wanted to tell him yes, you will get a job someday. And it will be a hell of a lot better than washing dishes. But she did not have the answer he wanted to hear yet.
"Have a nice time tonight with Mrs. Krentz?", she asked him instead.
"I tried to get her to shake my dirty food covered hand but she wouldn't, just like I planned", he said with a gleam in his eye.

Last Date Ever, The Continuum

She cried all the way back to the church where the other were all ready busy. Partly the tears were for what she was feeling and partly due to the violet rose he had given her, the one that lay on the front seat next to her. She was allergic and would have thoughtlessly tossed it out the window, but he might ask about it later. He knew she would have preferred a red flower, but it was not in him to jousle the other boys in Mrs. Vallene's fifth grade class for one. He was after all, a gentle men. He had the manners test with a passing score that had enabled him, his date, and his mother, to attend the formal luncheon.
Her face was dry by the time she wound her way through the maze of corridor's in the church's addition toward the source of the fish smell emanating from the back. Out of the black dress and into an apron she changed. The heart of the church was busling with activity and she jumped right in to the white haired foam sea of Lutherns. When she had called to volunteer at the Swedish museum's fundraising lutifisk feed, she had expected a plating of maybe one hundred, tops. Not the six hundred they were expecting. But she had help. At any given time she had ten church ladies, and a handful of guys, most who had been cooking longer than her and her son had been alive, at her disposal. She could taste the excitement in the air, as she rolled the meatballs and listened to her crew chatter. The girls were excited, the naughty bads were late.
The naughty bads where the volunteers who did not want to volunteer, but the state demanded social service time from them for there wrong doing. The naughty bads would bring an excited gleam to the old girls eyes, as with them they brought danger into the basement.
When the county bus arrived, bringing a melting pot of flavor into the kitchen of rice pudding, things happened. The ladies grouped closer together around the wash tub of ground meat they were forming into meat balls, purses now cluthched at their elbows. Talk turned from guessing what the crimes of the soon be be help were to the weather. Sharp knives were hidden. Curious glances behind cataracts where stolden.
The non volunteer volunteers were to do the dirty work. The sweet women turned into dictator's. Pots were saved as a penance to scrub. (See that tape there on the bottom? That's my name. Sylvia Swenson. Make sure that kettle gets back to me.) Garbage hauled. (Out to the back dumpster. But don't smoke back there. We had a fire last year.) Potatoes and rutabagas to be peeled. (No, I'm sorry honey. That's the only peeler we have. Dull old thing.) Extention cords unwound and heavy tabled to be set up. (Not too many plugs into one outlet ok?)
Thing were running smoothly, too smoothly up to coffee time. When it was decided they had all earned a break and a cup of coffee, the crew broke out the one secret tradition she was unaware of. Dark hour. Brewing the coffee would blow the fuse. Blowing the fuse would cut the lights in the kitchen and shut down all food production. The non vol's naughty bads would be at the church girls mercy. The girls would seize this time, and a hot cup of coffee to minister to their captive audience.
"Yes I do attend a church Sylvia, just not this one", she told her eager new old friend. "May I have my purse back now? No it is mine there on your arm. Feel inside, you'll find my cell. I need to call my boys."
She felt around the dish shelves to the back area where the only small window was for better phone reception while she made her calls. The volume of her phone was drowned out by a loud and constant crunching sound. It came from the area she had left the young non vol perched on a stool to peel the bin of potatoes. The volunteer was eating the raw potatoes like apples in the dark. She backed away and stood by self in silence and just listened to the multitude of conversations occuring around her.
She, herself had eating a number of potato and bread sandwiches for a meal during her salad years but had never been so hungary as to eat an uncooked potato.
Miraclusly, the power was turn on in time to throw the food in the oven, and dinner was to be served on time.
"Excuse me", she told the nappy haired young mother with the peeler by the window. Can you please help me cut the desersts in the other room?"
She wasn't supposed to feed the volunteers. But she knew spice cake beats a tuber.
Her sons finished up the cleaning.
They all needed each other.

Last Date Ever

She was not nervous until she realized how important the occasion was to him. "What will you be wearing?", he asked her as he knotted his tie. Her eyes regarded him in her mirror with approval as she stood applying her make up. She showed him her dress which he vetoed with a slight nod of his head. He chose for her the little black dress, too formal by her standards for day time, but she thought, ok, why not it would probably be their last date.
When she met him later at the train station, her eyes found his in the crowd immediately. Once catching her glance, he did not look her way again. There was protocol to be followed.
She was to walk past his business car to her own, to share her meal not with him, but with the other matrons. She was uncomfortable with the group of suburbalights who's inane chatter chatter was blander than the meal the harried wait staff served. She would much rather be up front with him. Or at least be a fly on his wall.
Before the trip was over, there would be time with him. After the coffee was served he strolled back to her table. "Hello", is all that he said. Then he leaned over and gave her the softest, sweetest kiss she had ever felt.
Alone in her car she cried with happiness.

Mind Blowing Meat

She sat in the over stuffed chair and staredover her coffee cup at his sleeping form on the floor in front of her. He was still in the same spot she had left him last night in front of the fireplace. She coughed suddenly and tried to mask the sound, and keep the hot liquid she was drinking from exiting through her nose, not wanting to wake him, or the boy who was curled up next to the big man. She wasn't very successful, as she noticed him stir, his face twitch beneath the arm still flung over his eyes. "What day is it?", he asks her. "Wednesday", is her reply as she blows the tea out of her nose. "No, I meant what year?" She pauses, wondering if he is all right, asking such a ridiculous question. "Baby", he continues, "what you did last night..Man, you really know how to treat a man." "Meatloaf. It was just a meatloaf" , she said kicking him with her toe for his teasing. "Now get out of here. You'll be late for work." "But what a meat loaf, you really blew my mind."
He had surprised her by coming home the night before. The dinner she had cooked wasn't even intended for him. It was left over ground meat she found in the bottom of the fridge and had used up not once thinking of him. In fact, it was another guest she had planned the meal around. But she had been with this man now longer than she had been without him. And she took him for granted more than she ever even noticed him.
"Not going in to work today. I have another doctors appointment."
There was a time when she would have planned an elaborate meal for him. Or when she would great him at the door wearing nothing but a smile, there would be no food thought of at all, and they both would of woken up on the floor.
"What are you doing up so early anyway?", he asks. "You still have a couple more hours of dark to rest your eyes before Mr. Sun annoys you."
She does not want to tell him it is worry that keeps sleep from her now.
"My eyes just decided they like to be open now."

Votapooluza

Still riding the media wave from our recent elections, I've decided to turn this blog into a democracy and let you chose my next story with which to shock and awe you. I'll give you three choices for your reading entertainment. Rock the Munkay vote!

*Pearly White dilemma: The young girl sighed and blew the wisps of longish blond hair with frustration as she stood in the registrars office for the umptenth time. Deviously to her advantage they had changed the deadline for registration, she realized with renewed hope. The teeth in her new Marrimecco bag rattled softly as she swing it with ethusiasm over her shoulder after turning in the entrance essay for the dental program, and planned in her mind the current mosaic of Rush Limbaugh she is currently crafting. "I hope I get a bunch with a lot of sliver fillings for his hair", she wished out loud as she stepped back out onto the busy campus.

*Mind Blowing Meat: "Baby, he said his eyes still closed underneath the thick arm flung across his forehead, "what you did last night. Man you blew my mind." She looked at him over the top of her steaming teacup where she sat looking down at him on the floor at the place he had crashed after the night before. "Meatloaf", she answered, "I just used a meatloaf. Get up. I'm kicking you out."

International Kara Coup: The federal agent looked around the little inconspicuous specialties shop in the north west metro in amazement. "I want every pixel, every memory chip and every gigabyte, every black and white or color image, if the deviant was so brash, accounted for or heads will roll. Do you hear me?", the meticusly dressed plain clothes man barked to his henchmen. "YES SIR", was the corused answer as the backs continued to carry out scanners and printers. He was seething on the inside as he watched the men carry out his orders with military precision while he wondered how the suspect had eluded his grasp yet again. "Boss", the voice of his assistant sounded in his ear, "your man was just spotted escaping the perimeter in a canoe." "Stay on him, I'll be right there." Now maybe he would find out the reason this mastermind was exporting all of Iceland's mojo hidden in the technology now being loaded for evidence in the fleet of waiting trucks. "Out of my way cat", he kicked at the surprising healthly looking feral that was blocking his car door.

Volunteer Friend

I'm sorry I won't have time any more to write. I'm going to be hanging out with all my new friends. The are a bunch of nice, conciderate people who tiraided me with phone calls in the past couple of weeks worrying about my civic responsibility. I now have all their phone numbers on my caller ID and plan on returning each and every call. I will, however wait until I have my kids in bed late late tonight so not to interrupt any more of my family time. The losers party's I will console, like the true buddy I am and ask questions like, "So how's it feel now there in on the bottom? Waste much time and money did ya?" Maybe I'll ask a couple of surveys myself. "Rate how sucky you feel, little crappy, moderately enh, or sharp poke in the eye." The winners of course I will barrage with hoots and cheers and beg them to come out celebrating with me. Maybe we will get together and build a nice effergy of the loser party symbol out of political signs or just a nice collage from the flyers. Whatever the turnout, I don't care. It is my social life that benefits in the long run.

Three Huts North of Rovaniemi

I sat in the yeti with my legs crossed polishing off the rye pancakes and wishing for more. More pancakes. More heat. More bathrooms. More words.

We had been in the rental car since back in Rovaniemi, where all forms of public transportation, and most signs of civilization ended. My family couldn't understand why I had wanted to continue on north and I had no solid reason. I just knew there had to be something good farther ahead. I was beginning to feel down because I did not want to disappoint them. My sister drove and I read out loud to the boys as we all acted as elk spotters when the pesky creatures came trotting out of the forests in groups to cross the road ahead of us.

The others had left me behind to find facilities as I sat and ate the delicious crepe type pancakes made with cloudberrys and cream and squirmed on my seat while I took in my surroundings. It was an unheated gift shop /cafe of sorts on the side of the road north of no where and I studied the leather drums and reindeer boots and carved wooden cups as I chewed. At one point I took my plate off the birch table and placed it in my lap for warmth. The proprietor, who spoke no English, sat stroking his Husky and trying not to be too obvious that he was studying me. He reminded me of one the the troll dolls that lined the shelves and made me uneasy. I can only imagine what I looked like to him, underdressed, shivering and unable to sit still as I wolfed down my food. I turned my eyes from the baskets hanging on a stand to the leather sheaved reindeer knives and farther up to the gigantic wooden mushroom on the top of the display. "That's some wild mushrooms they have here", I said to myself. "Long. Must be some kind of enoki." Then I realized with a blush that I was staring at an enormous birch penis.

And then I looked back to the troll who was openly staring at me and stroking his dog hard.

I ran out of there still chewing never wiping the cream from the corners of my mouth in search of my family who had gone on ahead to the next shack in the grouping of three that made up this stop.

The next one was run by a lovely young girl who sold no wooden phalis in her hut. I had seen penis magnets, and charms and bookends, and everything else you could possibly make using that shape openly displayed across Finland. At the Santa Claus village on the north pole my youngest son picked up a beautiful bottle opener only to find the decorative end to be yet another dick. I bought the first hand made wool cardigan I found in the second hut. I would of stayed and talked to her had my bladder not been on the verge of embarrassing me. "Have the reindeer been a problem for you on the road?", she tenitivly asked me in broken English as I made her only purchase for the day, maybe the week. "No, I answered, "Only a million caribou." And she smiled and pointed me to the last building when I asked to use the restroom.

Back in the car on the road again after using the outhouse, when my belly was full and I was warm I turned to my sister and said, "That was some wood that guy had back there, wasn't it?"
She rolled her eyes and looked in the rearview at the kids sitting in the back seat eagerly waiting for me to continue reading Lemony Snickett. "Just keep your eyes peeled for deer will ya?"

I learned three things that day in those huts. Dicks shaped like fungus can be considered sacred or lucky like a four leaf cover or a cross. Nordic reindeer can be as big as caribou. "Most people opinions aren't worth a pinch of(outhouse) shit."

It was one of the high points of the trip, looking back.

*one of my Finnish fathers quotes