7:am-I stood in my bathroom pinning back my hair and rehearsing the phase, "So you quite?" and I got the page. A coat of gloss and I was out the door.
8:am-I am in the bubble listening to the morning cook's tiraid on the no show of the baker/truck driver. I listened but did not giggle or roll my eyes. The more she swore and vented, the better I felt.
9:am- I placed the order for the next food delivery. $1,465. Questioned Jim if he was feeling better. (He had called in sick and had gone to the Packer game.) Greeted Antoine with a cheerful good morning. (Was not acknowledged.)
10:am- Sat through the longest drawn out possible new hire meeting ever.
11:am- Met my bosses, bosses, boss. My boss to the third power explained he was there due to Antoine. I could not fire him because of lack of paper work from Gerald (my boss). Antoine just needed a talking to. And he had to talk to morning cook about anger management classes.
12:00- Boss to the third explained to me Gerald is not coming back. (He was transferred to another facility.) Asked if I could handle rest of the week without him. I nodded yes and wondered if he knew I had been by myself most days since I took the job 2 months ago. Told me had I been there longer than 6 months, I would of gotten the job. I thanked him and asked where the mail room was.
1:pm -Saw the deaf child molester in the kitchen and wondered how he got back into the kitchen after getting fired. (Can't I get rid of anyone?)
1:05- Had a face screaming caption questioning my why I hired deaf creep back.
1:30- Meeting with 5 yuppy yups about deaf guy's forged rehire papers. reshedualed follow up meeting for Friday.
1:45 -Watched lying deaf guy get re-fired and escorted out. Hid everything that had my signature on it.
2:pm- Talked to Sandy the Finnish guard from Maugha about bread. Found out she used to be a bouncer at the homeless shelter downtown. Our grandparents are from the same town.
3:pm-Called Gerald and asked who my new boss is. Steve will be new boss. Was told Steve is very similar to Gerald, but I will need to write my own rules.
4:pm- Found the damn mail box on my own.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Monday, November 12, 2007
The Axe
I can't wait until Wednesday. I can't wait and I'll tell you why. Wednesday is the day I get to fire Antoine. That's why. I am glad.
Antoine should have been fired a long time and many reasons ago, but my boss has this thing called a heart and won't do it. I have wanted to fire that lazy slug the day I first laid eyes on him.
Oh sure, having this employee around (he is not an inmate, he is one of my company) makes me look smarter and more ambitious but man I can replace him with a comatose three toed slough.
I am more excited about this right now than my upcoming Maui trip, the polar plunge, working with Solie Anderson, and that nother child I can't tell you about yet, and the big family reunion thing.
Technically mind you I am only to suspend Antoine, and I will do it in a very nice professional manner. But I will let him take it as a challenge and quit.
Antoine should have been fired a long time and many reasons ago, but my boss has this thing called a heart and won't do it. I have wanted to fire that lazy slug the day I first laid eyes on him.
Oh sure, having this employee around (he is not an inmate, he is one of my company) makes me look smarter and more ambitious but man I can replace him with a comatose three toed slough.
I am more excited about this right now than my upcoming Maui trip, the polar plunge, working with Solie Anderson, and that nother child I can't tell you about yet, and the big family reunion thing.
Technically mind you I am only to suspend Antoine, and I will do it in a very nice professional manner. But I will let him take it as a challenge and quit.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Bless my Pig
We can't serve pork in prison. None. Even though it is an inexpensive type of protein, the inmate's can't have it. Even though the majority of population would love a good chop, Muslims and Jews might accidentally consume it and there would be lawsuits. Law suits and riots. That is why every one on the inside wants to be a wiccan.
Convicts are allowed one religious feast a year. The native American population request venison and wild rice. Ramadan, roast beef and cheese cake. The wiccans, got wise and claim pig (and spumoni ice cream ) as part of their ritual. Suddenly, in mid October, everyone is begging me to work on halloween.
I had to order three times as much pork roast as what was needed for the number of self professed nature worshipers. The stuff just disappeared. Con's would sneak the meat out raw, and using a lead pencil and an electric outlet for a spark, to cook it over a paper fueled fire in their cell, one bite at a time.
Part of the wiccan celebration ritual, the high priest told me, as to have an extra "offering" feast plate prepared to be left out for their spirit ghost.
The high priest did send me the most polite thank you letter complimenting the special food and effort that when into the harvest feast.
Of course, by the time I received it, the priest was doing his time in the seg hole. He didn't realize our camera's videoed him stealing the spirit ghosts meal.
*all religion must be a documented religion of a non violent nature. you must attend 2 services lead by an ordained leader or witnessed by a certified worship leader
Convicts are allowed one religious feast a year. The native American population request venison and wild rice. Ramadan, roast beef and cheese cake. The wiccans, got wise and claim pig (and spumoni ice cream ) as part of their ritual. Suddenly, in mid October, everyone is begging me to work on halloween.
I had to order three times as much pork roast as what was needed for the number of self professed nature worshipers. The stuff just disappeared. Con's would sneak the meat out raw, and using a lead pencil and an electric outlet for a spark, to cook it over a paper fueled fire in their cell, one bite at a time.
Part of the wiccan celebration ritual, the high priest told me, as to have an extra "offering" feast plate prepared to be left out for their spirit ghost.
The high priest did send me the most polite thank you letter complimenting the special food and effort that when into the harvest feast.
Of course, by the time I received it, the priest was doing his time in the seg hole. He didn't realize our camera's videoed him stealing the spirit ghosts meal.
*all religion must be a documented religion of a non violent nature. you must attend 2 services lead by an ordained leader or witnessed by a certified worship leader
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Down in Front
She sat in the back of the classroom doodling on her hand out and keeping an eye on the clock. Her books were already stashed in her pack, her laptop in it's case, and her keys at the ready in her front pocket. She would be the first one out of there, and she was anxious for the day to be over. Most of all, she hoped none of the slower participants would raise their hands with redundant questions. But of course the inevitable happened just as the ICS expert wound up his talk.
"So if there isn't any questions on the importance of the procedures I covered today, I'll let you go a little early."
She grabbed up her items half rising when the lady in the new badly fitting officers uniform at the front table shot up her hand. With a groan and an eye roll the impatient one lowered herself back into her chair.
"I understand what you said about the importance of a through pat down and all, but I work in a men's prison. I'm not touching junk for eight hours a day."
"You knew when you took the job it was a men's prison?"
"Welll...yes. But sometimes at movement I have to do pat downs and there is no way I'm going to be touching that much junk."
"How would you feel if you didn't touch their junk, and that is the day one of them comes through with a shank he hide in his crotch and he stabs your co-worker with it."
"They couldn't hide a knife there."
"Sure they will. Have you looked at the confiscated weapons on the back table. Especially if they know you are the officer that doesn't touch junk. I guarantee you, if you to work in my facility, you'd be touching more junk than any hooker or urologist in Minnesota, I'd personally make sure of that. One inmate was caught not long ago with a nine pound block of cheese he jammed into his pants...."
The girl accomplished her early getaway at that point as her hoots and guffaws were disrupting the class.
"So if there isn't any questions on the importance of the procedures I covered today, I'll let you go a little early."
She grabbed up her items half rising when the lady in the new badly fitting officers uniform at the front table shot up her hand. With a groan and an eye roll the impatient one lowered herself back into her chair.
"I understand what you said about the importance of a through pat down and all, but I work in a men's prison. I'm not touching junk for eight hours a day."
"You knew when you took the job it was a men's prison?"
"Welll...yes. But sometimes at movement I have to do pat downs and there is no way I'm going to be touching that much junk."
"How would you feel if you didn't touch their junk, and that is the day one of them comes through with a shank he hide in his crotch and he stabs your co-worker with it."
"They couldn't hide a knife there."
"Sure they will. Have you looked at the confiscated weapons on the back table. Especially if they know you are the officer that doesn't touch junk. I guarantee you, if you to work in my facility, you'd be touching more junk than any hooker or urologist in Minnesota, I'd personally make sure of that. One inmate was caught not long ago with a nine pound block of cheese he jammed into his pants...."
The girl accomplished her early getaway at that point as her hoots and guffaws were disrupting the class.
Friday, November 02, 2007
A Pointless and Epic Adventure
I walked into the connivance store and bought my big ass bag of cheap chippies. The clerk smiled at me briefly before handing me my change, a five dollar bill and some coins. As I leave the store a huge gust of wind snatches the bill from my hand and throws it into the air. I chase the bill down the street. Eventually it lands in the busy road. Fear of certain death keeps me from rushing out onto the street. Instead I wait a life time for the hurtling cars to pass.
After several anxious minuets it is safe for me to retrieve the wet crumpled bill. My money is torn nearly in two. And so without a moments hesitation, I march back into that connivance store and buy myself an other big assed bag of chippies. The clerk is perplexed by my action, but I do not care. That money was clearly jinxed and I would not carry such bad karma on my person.
After several anxious minuets it is safe for me to retrieve the wet crumpled bill. My money is torn nearly in two. And so without a moments hesitation, I march back into that connivance store and buy myself an other big assed bag of chippies. The clerk is perplexed by my action, but I do not care. That money was clearly jinxed and I would not carry such bad karma on my person.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
SSSHHHhhh.....
*warning: the following blog contains adult material that may cause the hair on the back of your knees to rise, heebie geebies, Stockhome Syndrome, eye rolling, list making, and general feelings of unease.
The devil has inhabited my microwave.
I repeat. Satan now resides in my Whirlpool Elite.
This morning at 6:am as I was warming the milk for my coffee he first showed himself to me. Right there, in the digital time window he appeared. 666.
I stared wide eyed and fearful before snatching my innocent mug from his clutches. My milk was scalding hot. SCALDING I tell you. Usually it is only tepid when it comes out. I threw open my front door and rebuked the offensive liquid out of my home. Then I grabbed my purse, and my keys and ran out of the house as if Lucifer himself was on my heels. He might have been for all I knew, I was in that much heed. Then I slipped on his puddle and landed with a crunchy thud next to my car. I'll be damned if my boss didn't believe the devil made me late for work. See he is already casting his dark magic and causing riffs and mayhem in my relationships. I spent my day at work vigilantly answering all e-mail and never letting my in box get more than 5 letters at a time. At lunch time I skedaddled over to the chapel for a Bible, but after discovering the inmates used them all for free rolling papers, I hit the cooler to rustle up some garlic. By three o'clock, my coworkers sent my stinking twitching self home . I think some employee's were starting to believe me, wanting me cast out and all.
Back at home my husband did not kinder entertaining any spirits other than maybe a hot toddy in the microwave oven. Claims he sees that offensive number only every ten minutes or so. I decided I would venture back into my domain. Cunning monster that he is, my oven appeared fine, so I walked straight over to him and stared him straight in the face. That is when my first cookbook, the Betty Crocker circa 1981, fell out of the top cupboard, and bounced off my head. It's flimsy spine broken in two. Page 261 Dark Indulgence Pie. Page 262 Devils Food Cake.
This is what I need you to do, my friends and do it quick as I am crouched under my computer desk whisper typing this message lest my proximity and my safety be given away. Send me sustenance. Now. Knowing it is hard to get your hands on Holy Water, I want the next best thing: water of life. (That's code for Aquavit.) Food stuffs. A nice cheese tray and fruit basket. Macadamia nuts. Some kabobs. Sushi extra avocado. Any extra candy you have lying around. But not, not the Smarties. I do not know how long I will be under holding fort and battling temptation. Oh and prayers are welcome too.
The devil has inhabited my microwave.
I repeat. Satan now resides in my Whirlpool Elite.
This morning at 6:am as I was warming the milk for my coffee he first showed himself to me. Right there, in the digital time window he appeared. 666.
I stared wide eyed and fearful before snatching my innocent mug from his clutches. My milk was scalding hot. SCALDING I tell you. Usually it is only tepid when it comes out. I threw open my front door and rebuked the offensive liquid out of my home. Then I grabbed my purse, and my keys and ran out of the house as if Lucifer himself was on my heels. He might have been for all I knew, I was in that much heed. Then I slipped on his puddle and landed with a crunchy thud next to my car. I'll be damned if my boss didn't believe the devil made me late for work. See he is already casting his dark magic and causing riffs and mayhem in my relationships. I spent my day at work vigilantly answering all e-mail and never letting my in box get more than 5 letters at a time. At lunch time I skedaddled over to the chapel for a Bible, but after discovering the inmates used them all for free rolling papers, I hit the cooler to rustle up some garlic. By three o'clock, my coworkers sent my stinking twitching self home . I think some employee's were starting to believe me, wanting me cast out and all.
Back at home my husband did not kinder entertaining any spirits other than maybe a hot toddy in the microwave oven. Claims he sees that offensive number only every ten minutes or so. I decided I would venture back into my domain. Cunning monster that he is, my oven appeared fine, so I walked straight over to him and stared him straight in the face. That is when my first cookbook, the Betty Crocker circa 1981, fell out of the top cupboard, and bounced off my head. It's flimsy spine broken in two. Page 261 Dark Indulgence Pie. Page 262 Devils Food Cake.
This is what I need you to do, my friends and do it quick as I am crouched under my computer desk whisper typing this message lest my proximity and my safety be given away. Send me sustenance. Now. Knowing it is hard to get your hands on Holy Water, I want the next best thing: water of life. (That's code for Aquavit.) Food stuffs. A nice cheese tray and fruit basket. Macadamia nuts. Some kabobs. Sushi extra avocado. Any extra candy you have lying around. But not, not the Smarties. I do not know how long I will be under holding fort and battling temptation. Oh and prayers are welcome too.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Taking Stock
Dear DOC,
As per your request, I have made the necessary arrangements for the possible panepicademic.
I have stockpiled:
85050 paper bags. 120 cases.
255150 plastic baggies 256 cases
765450 paper napkins 780 cases
The non perishables are currently being held in the outside ware house as I know if the inmates see the number of paper products, they would expect a lock down and incite a riot.
Our freezer's maximum capacity is 1112 square feet of room. 13500 frozen dinner are 135000 ounces or 8437.5 pounds. They will fit. If we order them when we have the manpower to utilize the fork lift. I called our supplier in Wisconsin. All they need is 2 functioning employees, and it will be here in a day. Same with the 151200 pounds of canned fruit. And the 20160 ponds fresh fruit. 2520- 336 cases. 113400 cases of cold cereal. 12650 crates of milk- fresh, 315 boxes 32 cases powdered. 765 loves of bread. 1032 pounds of pre sliced meat and cheese. 135 pounds of peanut butter. 750 pounds of canned stew. Concentrated fruit juice, 4 pallets. 2000 pounds margarine. 78 cases mustard packets.
I have two week's worth of supplies to revert back to scratch cooking . We also will need 1008 man hours of able bodied labor to function.
With that in place I can feed population and staff for 21 days lock down, 45 with no outside contact . All my kitchen ducks are in a row.
I also took an inventory of the stock I have on hand,
I big ass block pepper jack cheese
3 bags Doritoes
2 large Baja Sol salsa
10 pounds t-bone
tater tots, frozen veg, cream of mushroom soup, hamburger
8 pounds assorted chocolate
Hagen Daze
Aquavit
1 box red, 1 box white
2 large bags Alley Cat
The Complete Monty Python DVD boxed set
The last Lemony Snicket, Harry Potter, Narnia, Louis Eldrich Book
12 pounds fireworks
1 case TP
Course the last item's are at my house. That's where I'm going to stay if this all shakes down.
As per your request, I have made the necessary arrangements for the possible panepicademic.
I have stockpiled:
85050 paper bags. 120 cases.
255150 plastic baggies 256 cases
765450 paper napkins 780 cases
The non perishables are currently being held in the outside ware house as I know if the inmates see the number of paper products, they would expect a lock down and incite a riot.
Our freezer's maximum capacity is 1112 square feet of room. 13500 frozen dinner are 135000 ounces or 8437.5 pounds. They will fit. If we order them when we have the manpower to utilize the fork lift. I called our supplier in Wisconsin. All they need is 2 functioning employees, and it will be here in a day. Same with the 151200 pounds of canned fruit. And the 20160 ponds fresh fruit. 2520- 336 cases. 113400 cases of cold cereal. 12650 crates of milk- fresh, 315 boxes 32 cases powdered. 765 loves of bread. 1032 pounds of pre sliced meat and cheese. 135 pounds of peanut butter. 750 pounds of canned stew. Concentrated fruit juice, 4 pallets. 2000 pounds margarine. 78 cases mustard packets.
I have two week's worth of supplies to revert back to scratch cooking . We also will need 1008 man hours of able bodied labor to function.
With that in place I can feed population and staff for 21 days lock down, 45 with no outside contact . All my kitchen ducks are in a row.
I also took an inventory of the stock I have on hand,
I big ass block pepper jack cheese
3 bags Doritoes
2 large Baja Sol salsa
10 pounds t-bone
tater tots, frozen veg, cream of mushroom soup, hamburger
8 pounds assorted chocolate
Hagen Daze
Aquavit
1 box red, 1 box white
2 large bags Alley Cat
The Complete Monty Python DVD boxed set
The last Lemony Snicket, Harry Potter, Narnia, Louis Eldrich Book
12 pounds fireworks
1 case TP
Course the last item's are at my house. That's where I'm going to stay if this all shakes down.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Phobia Free
"I'm leaving," the Phobia said dragging his heavy baggage toward my front door.
"Just like that?" I asked. "I'm going to be worry free?"
"Not really, Disgust is going to replace me."
"Disgust?" I answered with a frown, holding open my door with a clean handkerchief.
I wished Phobia well and passed him a bottle of sanitizer for his travels.
"Maybe you will see me again", he said as he nervously scanned the horizon and crossed himself before setting off.
"Maybe you will", I answered not wanting to sound rude.
I closed my door without locking it and leaned against it with sigh and a (disgusted) sneer.
"Just like that?" I asked. "I'm going to be worry free?"
"Not really, Disgust is going to replace me."
"Disgust?" I answered with a frown, holding open my door with a clean handkerchief.
I wished Phobia well and passed him a bottle of sanitizer for his travels.
"Maybe you will see me again", he said as he nervously scanned the horizon and crossed himself before setting off.
"Maybe you will", I answered not wanting to sound rude.
I closed my door without locking it and leaned against it with sigh and a (disgusted) sneer.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Thursday, October 18, 2007
10 Things, Boss Man, 10 Things
Dear new Boss Man, here are some things you ought to know about me.
10- When I wrote on my resume I was night manager at my last job, it meant they left me alone to direct myself around after dark.
9-I giggle out loud every time I here the word "penile."
8-During my interview process, I ask all the applicants two questions.
1) Do you have a tattoo? 2) Do you want one?
Then I whip out my inkin gun I jimmy rigged out of my computer motor (thank you academy for teaching me how) and sell my black market body art. I'm really good at Cripts, Native Pride Warriors, and MS 13 tags. But I really enjoy tatting Bloods on the Vice Lords and vice verca.
I make good money AND get to watch the throw down that ensues.
7-My left boot is now named Jewel and my right Butt. Both of their last names: Kicker.
6 Every day I try bribing the ICS with food stuffs to get me my own teaser. I'm willing to go as far as the Thanksgiving pudding cups if I can zap someone. (Oh and it's going to be one of those damn stubborn ICS agents that's going to fry first when I get one for keeping me from my fun.)
5-I use the warden's name in vain.
4- I spent my time at academy fantasizing about the male nurse that droned on in front of the room for a good part of the day in a strangely falsetto voice of the dangers of blood born pathogens. I pictured him dressed up as Lisa Minnelli. He so could have pulled off an evening gown and a feather boa had he a martini glass and a little mascara . I bet myself nursey did a mean impersonation of a heart broken lounge warbler in front of the boys in the infirmary. That and I thought about toast.
3-Oh like hell in a hostage take over am I "going to assume my role as a hostage and act accordingly." Protect the general public? No. I'm jumping in the dietary truck and rammin the gate. Razor wire. Gate. And I might just take Wasson with me. Dude makes a mean dirty rice. Good to know on the outside, when we are hiding out in Mexico.
2-At lunch time when the warden does his face time front and center up by the guards cage and watches the inmates going through the serving lines eating, he wants to see me "work" the room. He would like me to listen to the inmates feed back, so he does not get kites of complaints. Those randy guys don't want to talk food to me. So I walk up and down the serving lines behind my workers and whistle "Chain gang". He wonders why they glare at him.
1- You had me at "all male."
10- When I wrote on my resume I was night manager at my last job, it meant they left me alone to direct myself around after dark.
9-I giggle out loud every time I here the word "penile."
8-During my interview process, I ask all the applicants two questions.
1) Do you have a tattoo? 2) Do you want one?
Then I whip out my inkin gun I jimmy rigged out of my computer motor (thank you academy for teaching me how) and sell my black market body art. I'm really good at Cripts, Native Pride Warriors, and MS 13 tags. But I really enjoy tatting Bloods on the Vice Lords and vice verca.
I make good money AND get to watch the throw down that ensues.
7-My left boot is now named Jewel and my right Butt. Both of their last names: Kicker.
6 Every day I try bribing the ICS with food stuffs to get me my own teaser. I'm willing to go as far as the Thanksgiving pudding cups if I can zap someone. (Oh and it's going to be one of those damn stubborn ICS agents that's going to fry first when I get one for keeping me from my fun.)
5-I use the warden's name in vain.
4- I spent my time at academy fantasizing about the male nurse that droned on in front of the room for a good part of the day in a strangely falsetto voice of the dangers of blood born pathogens. I pictured him dressed up as Lisa Minnelli. He so could have pulled off an evening gown and a feather boa had he a martini glass and a little mascara . I bet myself nursey did a mean impersonation of a heart broken lounge warbler in front of the boys in the infirmary. That and I thought about toast.
3-Oh like hell in a hostage take over am I "going to assume my role as a hostage and act accordingly." Protect the general public? No. I'm jumping in the dietary truck and rammin the gate. Razor wire. Gate. And I might just take Wasson with me. Dude makes a mean dirty rice. Good to know on the outside, when we are hiding out in Mexico.
2-At lunch time when the warden does his face time front and center up by the guards cage and watches the inmates going through the serving lines eating, he wants to see me "work" the room. He would like me to listen to the inmates feed back, so he does not get kites of complaints. Those randy guys don't want to talk food to me. So I walk up and down the serving lines behind my workers and whistle "Chain gang". He wonders why they glare at him.
1- You had me at "all male."
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
RAWWWRR
For the briefest of instances, when I opened my e-mail, I felt like a winner. One hundred twelve letters! I was the epitome of popularity! Finally all my my unanswered mail has been reciprocated. All my old friends are trying to contact me once again. Probley some big bash in my honor. And then sadly I realized I did not know one hundred and twelve people and the short lived joy I was feeling was deflated while I set about deleting my latest virus residue. I was on my second or third page of erasing the ones about Steve the crocodile hunters demise, and growing my arm chair taxi penis when a certain one caught my eye.
FEEL LIKE THE TIGER YOU ARE.
Huh? What did that one mean?
When I poke my rotund cat Tippy in the belly I feel soft fur. A warm fur covered marshmallow/bean bag chair feeling. Tippy, vain cat that he is, does not put up with me poking his flub for long before he haughty stalks off twitching his tail. I touched a tiger up at that zoo in Hinkley once, the time the owner let me ride around on his golf cart as he was feeding the critters, but that was after a few complimentary beverages at the casino, and I can honestly tell you at that time I didn't feel a thing.
OH. Feel like the tiger I are.
I always felt myself more like in the canine family, what being raised by wolves on the Canadian border and how well I can relate to the fox and all, but hey I could give this thought a shove.
In my tiger frame of mind I'm damn hot. Not the good hot. The growly, I got all this crazy fur on me shave me now I'm going to bite your head off hot. And I'm gassy from all this meat diet, plus a little constipated to boot. I could go hunting for sport, pleasure or just a quick snacky snack, but I just want to lay here. And I'm all twitchy, looking over my shoulder for poachers all the time. They only want me for my hide and my aphrodisiac ability. Not that I would get any steamy loving mind you. They done shot every other tiger cept my brother and he is up in a zoo, God knows where in Minnesota. Not that I would do him anyway, the lazy buggers farts were riper than mine. Bring me a steak and a nice cool place where I don' t have to keep marking as my territory. I'm the biggest thing going on around here.
Yup, that person who sent me that knew me well after all. I should invite him over for dinner. Bring your own penis armchair.
FEEL LIKE THE TIGER YOU ARE.
Huh? What did that one mean?
When I poke my rotund cat Tippy in the belly I feel soft fur. A warm fur covered marshmallow/bean bag chair feeling. Tippy, vain cat that he is, does not put up with me poking his flub for long before he haughty stalks off twitching his tail. I touched a tiger up at that zoo in Hinkley once, the time the owner let me ride around on his golf cart as he was feeding the critters, but that was after a few complimentary beverages at the casino, and I can honestly tell you at that time I didn't feel a thing.
OH. Feel like the tiger I are.
I always felt myself more like in the canine family, what being raised by wolves on the Canadian border and how well I can relate to the fox and all, but hey I could give this thought a shove.
In my tiger frame of mind I'm damn hot. Not the good hot. The growly, I got all this crazy fur on me shave me now I'm going to bite your head off hot. And I'm gassy from all this meat diet, plus a little constipated to boot. I could go hunting for sport, pleasure or just a quick snacky snack, but I just want to lay here. And I'm all twitchy, looking over my shoulder for poachers all the time. They only want me for my hide and my aphrodisiac ability. Not that I would get any steamy loving mind you. They done shot every other tiger cept my brother and he is up in a zoo, God knows where in Minnesota. Not that I would do him anyway, the lazy buggers farts were riper than mine. Bring me a steak and a nice cool place where I don' t have to keep marking as my territory. I'm the biggest thing going on around here.
Yup, that person who sent me that knew me well after all. I should invite him over for dinner. Bring your own penis armchair.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Where You At?
The Man sucked in her breath and pushed open the scared grey metal door with much more force than was needed. The broom that was leaning against the hot boxes on the other side clattered to the floor, and the heavy portal ricochet back towards The Man causing her to leap sideways into the room like an over caffeinated cat avoiding bath time. All the voices that had a moment earlier been echoing through the florescent bright kitchen died abruptly as the fifty nine eyes all turn in her direction. It would have been sixty, had Minendez not lost one that gang fight uptown.
The new meat had entered. The inmates did not know what to do with the little white girl man yet, so they only watched, and waited. But mostly they watched.
The Man, on the other hand, was much more scared of what they could do to her than what she could do to any of them. She scanned the room quickly, trying not to appear too obviously anxious, looking for the large black man, Gerald. Gerald was The Man's protector, her saviour. Unfortunately her new boss ran on Gerald time and was not yet there.
"I wonder if I could bust outta here", she thought, "If I was ever convicted of a heinous crime and had undergone a sex change. I mean after all, I got into here with only this badge. No keys, no escort, and no armed guard I was promised. I could get out." She didn't realize yet, how soon this thought would become her deepest desire.
Being the adrenaline fueled rush thought that it was, this all had bounced through her head before the broom finally came to a stop on the floor to her right.
She was in the kitchen alright. Locked in the kitchen, with fifty nine eyes trained on her and ten of the longest yards to the secure office she shared with Gerald. She quickly walked with her head up, trying not to run and shed fear laced hormones in her wake. She looked nether to her left, nor to her right as The man took in as straight a line possible past the dish line, the cooks area, the salad and prep lines, and the bakery. She made it to the safety of her door. The safe door that stood in front of her locked, the keys in Gerald's pocket, right where she wanted to be at that instant.
She could only blame herself. She could have stopped at the front guard station and waited for Gerald. The Man could have requested a guard or an escort back anytime before she got this far. But hey, the watch officer she had walked swiftly past at the front of the cafeteria had been playing solitaire on his computer instead of monitoring any of the numerous surveillance camera's and was too busy trying to close down his screen before she had seen what he was up too to bother with checking her clearance.
She could not place the trembling hand she had reached out on the door to juggle it's unwielding knob and alert the convicts of her venerability so instead she reached up to adjust the lock of hair that had strayed from the tight knot on top of her head. In that instant as she looked into the glass walls of the darkened room surrounding her desk, she had a glimmer of hope as looked into the eyes of the uniformed woman staring back out at her. But that emotionless face held tension only The Man could identify. She hoped.
The movie in her mind fast forwarded through all her viable options at this point of her rapidly approaching demise-
She could scale the bakery stack rack next to her and climb into the extended ceiling panels overhead and tunnel around the eclectic cables if not to freedom, to a spot that would only hold her weight.
She could drop where she stood and with a little luck, hit her head on the tile floor and render herself unconscious, oblivious to what would happen to her body next.
She could fling herself at the camera pointed at her office door screaming and flailing around in hopes Beril had shut down the game he had been playing to turn his attention the video screen premier of her peril. "Peril!!!! BERILLLL!! Jack on Queen! Halp! Look at me!"*
She could take the offensive and jump on the closest table and shout, "BITCHES! Listen up! Keep it in pocket and you won't do f@#* hole. Feel me. Get you s&$@ ass's humpin!"
She could turn and walk into the ware house back into the freezer and just not come out liquid. (Humans are liquid, or are we gas. Except frozen right? Then we are solid.)
She could do her best Erica Kane impersonation, her most used out, where she squares her shoulders and acts as if she can do anything she wants and expects others to do her bidding. Except Erica would sleep with the warden and then marry the alpha riot inciter. As exciting as that prospect sounded at the moment, she already had a bitch at home.*
"Good Morning The Man! Where is Gerald!" Her ears welcomed the sound of one of the contracted morning cooks voice over the echo of her knees knocking together.
She turned towards the chef who was making his way toward her. Fat Jim, the cook so dirty grizzly he made the tattooed toothless inmates look good lurched in his discombobulated gait over to her.
"The Man, c'mon into the bubble and had a cup a coffee and sit down." Head so high her chin grazed the clouds, she followed him into the the one way glass unclosed room.
Later while standing in her new found haven, she would watch the workers in the kitchen and discover the backgrounds of the men who soon became her new friends. Littleman, the three hundred pound line server with the positive attitude and quick smile would help her when population harass her about the shit they were being fed. "When are we gonna get some steak in this place boss lady?" they would ask as they shuffled by, tray in hand wanting to make conversation with a new face. "Hey, leave the lady lone man. Where you at?" Littleman was in for murder. Maybe her new friend for life. This was a surprise when she found out. She had pacified herself with the thought perhaps Littleman had just got busted for driving a get away car. By the time he was sent away to segregation for smuggling food, she was more comfortable hanging out with the 'mates than the staff. When The Man discovered her lead night cook had beat his woman's baby to death with his bare hands, she stopped doing background checks.
Never in her wildest dream had she imagined herself managing a prison. Life changes happen fast. I don't expect to be at this job long. But then they say attention deficit is a contributing attribute among prisoners.
*Hubby. I will write about his transformation soon.
The new meat had entered. The inmates did not know what to do with the little white girl man yet, so they only watched, and waited. But mostly they watched.
The Man, on the other hand, was much more scared of what they could do to her than what she could do to any of them. She scanned the room quickly, trying not to appear too obviously anxious, looking for the large black man, Gerald. Gerald was The Man's protector, her saviour. Unfortunately her new boss ran on Gerald time and was not yet there.
"I wonder if I could bust outta here", she thought, "If I was ever convicted of a heinous crime and had undergone a sex change. I mean after all, I got into here with only this badge. No keys, no escort, and no armed guard I was promised. I could get out." She didn't realize yet, how soon this thought would become her deepest desire.
Being the adrenaline fueled rush thought that it was, this all had bounced through her head before the broom finally came to a stop on the floor to her right.
She was in the kitchen alright. Locked in the kitchen, with fifty nine eyes trained on her and ten of the longest yards to the secure office she shared with Gerald. She quickly walked with her head up, trying not to run and shed fear laced hormones in her wake. She looked nether to her left, nor to her right as The man took in as straight a line possible past the dish line, the cooks area, the salad and prep lines, and the bakery. She made it to the safety of her door. The safe door that stood in front of her locked, the keys in Gerald's pocket, right where she wanted to be at that instant.
She could only blame herself. She could have stopped at the front guard station and waited for Gerald. The Man could have requested a guard or an escort back anytime before she got this far. But hey, the watch officer she had walked swiftly past at the front of the cafeteria had been playing solitaire on his computer instead of monitoring any of the numerous surveillance camera's and was too busy trying to close down his screen before she had seen what he was up too to bother with checking her clearance.
She could not place the trembling hand she had reached out on the door to juggle it's unwielding knob and alert the convicts of her venerability so instead she reached up to adjust the lock of hair that had strayed from the tight knot on top of her head. In that instant as she looked into the glass walls of the darkened room surrounding her desk, she had a glimmer of hope as looked into the eyes of the uniformed woman staring back out at her. But that emotionless face held tension only The Man could identify. She hoped.
The movie in her mind fast forwarded through all her viable options at this point of her rapidly approaching demise-
She could scale the bakery stack rack next to her and climb into the extended ceiling panels overhead and tunnel around the eclectic cables if not to freedom, to a spot that would only hold her weight.
She could drop where she stood and with a little luck, hit her head on the tile floor and render herself unconscious, oblivious to what would happen to her body next.
She could fling herself at the camera pointed at her office door screaming and flailing around in hopes Beril had shut down the game he had been playing to turn his attention the video screen premier of her peril. "Peril!!!! BERILLLL!! Jack on Queen! Halp! Look at me!"*
She could take the offensive and jump on the closest table and shout, "BITCHES! Listen up! Keep it in pocket and you won't do f@#* hole. Feel me. Get you s&$@ ass's humpin!"
She could turn and walk into the ware house back into the freezer and just not come out liquid. (Humans are liquid, or are we gas. Except frozen right? Then we are solid.)
She could do her best Erica Kane impersonation, her most used out, where she squares her shoulders and acts as if she can do anything she wants and expects others to do her bidding. Except Erica would sleep with the warden and then marry the alpha riot inciter. As exciting as that prospect sounded at the moment, she already had a bitch at home.*
"Good Morning The Man! Where is Gerald!" Her ears welcomed the sound of one of the contracted morning cooks voice over the echo of her knees knocking together.
She turned towards the chef who was making his way toward her. Fat Jim, the cook so dirty grizzly he made the tattooed toothless inmates look good lurched in his discombobulated gait over to her.
"The Man, c'mon into the bubble and had a cup a coffee and sit down." Head so high her chin grazed the clouds, she followed him into the the one way glass unclosed room.
Later while standing in her new found haven, she would watch the workers in the kitchen and discover the backgrounds of the men who soon became her new friends. Littleman, the three hundred pound line server with the positive attitude and quick smile would help her when population harass her about the shit they were being fed. "When are we gonna get some steak in this place boss lady?" they would ask as they shuffled by, tray in hand wanting to make conversation with a new face. "Hey, leave the lady lone man. Where you at?" Littleman was in for murder. Maybe her new friend for life. This was a surprise when she found out. She had pacified herself with the thought perhaps Littleman had just got busted for driving a get away car. By the time he was sent away to segregation for smuggling food, she was more comfortable hanging out with the 'mates than the staff. When The Man discovered her lead night cook had beat his woman's baby to death with his bare hands, she stopped doing background checks.
Never in her wildest dream had she imagined herself managing a prison. Life changes happen fast. I don't expect to be at this job long. But then they say attention deficit is a contributing attribute among prisoners.
*Hubby. I will write about his transformation soon.
Friday, September 28, 2007
When I get out of jail...
When I get out of jail,
I drive away very very fast.
And don't look back at the guards in the tower watching me peel out.
I turn my music up LOUD.
And roll down my window and gulp the fresh air.
When I pull into my yard, I walk over to the chicken pen and lock my knees when the multicolored flock swarm me, much like the inmates do, when I enter the cafeteria, so I don't turn and run . And I stand there and watch them, watch me, much like the cafeteria. Only it relaxes me.
I walk into my house and wash my hands repeatedly. I sometimes wash my hands repeatedly before I shower and wash repeatedly.
Then I eat. I crave the food so spicy it will bring tears to my eyes. I want the deserts to sweet they hurt. My office is right next to the bakery and I'm damned if I will eat state paid food designated for the prisoners. The same food the guards will push like brutish pigs to get to while the men are sitting waiting at the long hard tables watching , waiting for clearance, is not what I want to put in my mouth. But most of all, I want that fruit cake. The cake only my mum knew how to make and only at Christmas.
And when I get to sit down and hug my boys, I stare at their innocent beauty, in my bright warm yellow kitchen with it's cobalt blue and teal green curtains, glad to be in a room not void of color, and tell them funny stories about the murders, and rapists, and the raping murderers, and the murdering rapists and that silly cook dude to is in for knocking over a liquor store, but got sent to minimum security, only to walk off and swipe the dietary van to rob the bottle shop three blocks away, and is now back cooking breakfast.
And I'm all ok.
I drive away very very fast.
And don't look back at the guards in the tower watching me peel out.
I turn my music up LOUD.
And roll down my window and gulp the fresh air.
When I pull into my yard, I walk over to the chicken pen and lock my knees when the multicolored flock swarm me, much like the inmates do, when I enter the cafeteria, so I don't turn and run . And I stand there and watch them, watch me, much like the cafeteria. Only it relaxes me.
I walk into my house and wash my hands repeatedly. I sometimes wash my hands repeatedly before I shower and wash repeatedly.
Then I eat. I crave the food so spicy it will bring tears to my eyes. I want the deserts to sweet they hurt. My office is right next to the bakery and I'm damned if I will eat state paid food designated for the prisoners. The same food the guards will push like brutish pigs to get to while the men are sitting waiting at the long hard tables watching , waiting for clearance, is not what I want to put in my mouth. But most of all, I want that fruit cake. The cake only my mum knew how to make and only at Christmas.
And when I get to sit down and hug my boys, I stare at their innocent beauty, in my bright warm yellow kitchen with it's cobalt blue and teal green curtains, glad to be in a room not void of color, and tell them funny stories about the murders, and rapists, and the raping murderers, and the murdering rapists and that silly cook dude to is in for knocking over a liquor store, but got sent to minimum security, only to walk off and swipe the dietary van to rob the bottle shop three blocks away, and is now back cooking breakfast.
And I'm all ok.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Purgatory in Azkaban
One the second day in her new life in management she spend the first twenty minutes of her pre pre dawn morning locked in the shabby corridors between buildings after taking a wrong turn. She could not continue forward nor go back. She passed from one door to the next and stood staring at the solid grey steel barrier and wondered if there was some sort of alarm she would trigger if she just continued to jiggle the handles aggressively. The armed guard that had glimpsed her defeated form in passing and set her free never did explain to her her name tag would open any door. Maybe he knew there are just doors she should not open. Silly guard.
Monday, September 10, 2007
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.
"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.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Saturday, August 25, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, August 24, 2007
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....
"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....
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
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."
"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."
Friday, July 27, 2007
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
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
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
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.
"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.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
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
Thursday, May 31, 2007
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
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
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
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
*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
Monday, May 28, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, May 05, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
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?
Oh wait, I'm taking a car load of kids.
Which one of you will hide Mama's bail money?
Friday, April 27, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, April 23, 2007
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.
"Why not me, I'm right here", I thought with exasperation.
"I'm going out to finish the yard before I go", I replied.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
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?"
"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."
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
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.
Monday, April 16, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
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.
"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.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
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.
Please.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
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.
Friday, March 16, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, March 02, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
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)
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)
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
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."
Thursday, February 15, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, February 09, 2007
"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.
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.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
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
"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
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
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?
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?
Sunday, January 21, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, January 19, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
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.)
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.)
Monday, January 01, 2007
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.
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.
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