On My Way Out

fast-forward 6 months from then
She likes to think of him in those early morning hours before the light chases the dull grey out of everything in the house. When she's up and dressed and ready to leave for work while he's still folded up in the sheets. Twisted like he's been fighting off something much more serious than morning--than the alarm clock ring. Before starting off for work, she always stands in the doorway of the bedroom and fights against the demon of reaction these moments cause. To wake him. To whisper. To undress and slip back under his warm breath and body. He always moves to her side. His hands reaching in the direction she was an hour or so before. Leaving stings the skin. Every time. More than I ever wanted her to believe. This morning, she places her head into the back of his neck. Sucking in the smells of his skin and hair. Like a just unwrapped bar of soap. And leather. Kissing a fine line of the story about the way in which she loves him across his neck. He's clutching her arm. Inaudible noises through the cover of sleep and pillows. And she wonders if he misses her. The way the sheets never forget the smell of him when he's gone.

Even Though You Don't Live Here Anymore

i bought you a bottle of gin at the store. got home and placed it next to the coffee maker by the sink. and waited. i picked up the wrong kind. and had to try to remember the words: blue sapphire . it's sitting there. staring at me. and even though you don't even live here anymore. we get into a huge fight in my head about how i got the wrong kind. and i tell you to get fucked and never come back. then you slam all the kitchen doors and mutter mean things about me when i start crying on the couch. and i tell you to get the hell out. and we break it off again.

Her Career Heads South

"McMurdo Station", he repeated."Antarctica?"
"Yes", she replied.
He smiled.
Maybe he now will wait her return.

Devil Under My Bed

You ever have a wonderfully exciting idea's that you know is horribly wrong even before you have completed saying it? Ever wish could experience rapid onset lock jaw? Yes? Course you have. Bob is one of those misguided realizations. I know I should have shut my yap mid-sentience just once.

. A normal persons reaction might of went:

"Oh you have a wild creature terrorizing your domestic pets and scaring your goats? That sucks."
Instead out of my unthinking mouth gushed, "A bobmanx! I have all ways wanted one!"

At "You want it?", I could have done a u-turn and saved face. But no. Buy that time the dark force had my tongue.

So they live trapped him and I brought him home. The devil rode shot gun.

Bob spent his first night in my kitchen. When I opened his door the next day to slip in some food, in a flash he clawed his way over me. He rearranged my house like a Tasmanian.

Bob tore through my kitchen in the early morning hours, ripping curtains, removing art work , tipping furniture, and undoing taxes.

I confronted his backside once he wedged himself for some personal time behind a TV. I tossed a blanket over Bob and recaptured him with out waking the family. It was too early in the day to hear "I told you" so's. Besides I was running late for an important work meeting.

Wanting to hide my stupid evil unthought out actions, I hid his cage away safety from my family in my bedroom. Not wanting to be cruel I let him out to roam my bed/bath.

I do not see him often during the day light. I have caught him watching me from a vantage point as I brush my teeth in the mirror from the top of this towel cabinet. At first it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up like a...Manx.

He likes hanging with the dust devils under my bed. I hear him come out at night. During the day, I spend quite time alone with him and enjoy talking with him. This afternoon I read him the local paper.

"Bob. Did you know Micheal Bolton is coming to the Grand Casino Hinkley? Wanna go? Me either."

I just wish he'd finish off that box old chocolate covered cherrys under there.

*I had to drive to the food vender's event in Wis with my boss and bosses boss. That was a road trip, what with me getting blood all over the fancy sports car. "Hey, we need to stop at another bar to disinfect Munkay's scratches."

Absurd Love Word Finaly

Want to hear my absurd love words?
I got better things to do
lick your boots-drive your car
stalk you from afar.

That's ok, there really not about you.

Absurd Love Word 9

At night I dream of you alot.
Remember me?
Do I still give you the hebegebies?

Absurd Love Word 8

Can you see my heart beating
Every time we meet up in town?
Crowds really scare me.
Sorry.

Absurd Love Word 7

Sometimes I wake with stars in my eyes
Sometimes I wake with swirls
Sometimes I wake with dust in my eyes
Sometimes I wake with tears.
Yet always I lie there wondering
If you, did you, and why did you
Drop an anvil on my head
In the night?

Absurd love word 6

I told you I loved you
You said thank you
you are nothing

but polite

Absurd Love Word 5

I went out for a drink
and got sick in my chair
woke up with a headache
and a picture of you kissing her

Absurd Love Word 4

I hung by the phone all night
climbed into bed fully dressed
in case you still wanted to have dinner
even the next morning

Absurd Love Word 3

I think of you everyday
they say "get a live"
I answer
no

Absurd Love Word 2

Marry me I shouted
No thank you you sighed
So I wrote you a letter
knocked back a box of wine
planted myself under my mail box
waiting on your reply



(it's been two years)

Absurd Love Word 1

Some get
unrequited love
some get
stalking charges

How Sick am I

The freak in me:


Always slows down and looks at the wet bio hazard evidence locker in hopes of seeing something on her way into work every morning.

Has a never ending black head on her rib cage she talks too.

At least once a day starts a conversation with the phrase, "Wanna hear the most annoying sound ever?" And makes one only to amuse self.

Is angered by joggers, especially fat joggers that can run farther than I can. That's about everyone.

Always fixes the cat a snaky snack while watching Conan so she is not the only one who wakes up in the middle of night to eat. ("Huh? Kitty was hungry and woke me up mewing.")

Mentally cleans and rearranges other peoples kitchens. In the nude.

Brings in clumps of squirrel hair and hides in supervisors desk waiting for the day the guard dog does a sweep of our office. (Ha-ha! Lassie, Steve's hiding contraband- strip search him officer, he smells like rope!)

Once sneezed the biggest something out of nose and saved it to show family. Became very upset when cleaning lady threw thing out. Told CL when caught digging through trash I lost my contact.

Stoped testing the ketones in my urine samples (when diabetic) because the label said, "Do not use internally".

Has an impromptu speak written for when she wins "Iron Chef".

Challenges self to not shave to feel more exotically European. Grosses out small town mid west self and clogs drain. Tells husband it's his hair.

Saved every one of her kids baby teeth in an old prescription bottle. Later, swallowed teeth and still had a migraine

Inscribes every post with hidden love message for the Rock.

Spent the best part of an afternoon cleaning out a cabinet large enough to hold self. Contorted self into cupboard meant to hold a set of pots and pans. Instead of springing out to surprise husband, trapped self. ("Let me out. Please. I'll be good.")

Tells my teenager I wish he had never been born. I like eating for two.

Purposely mispronounces words such as jalapenos, Celtic, and fungi , just to see if any one is dorky enough to correct me. Then laughs at them if they do.

Has never told Hubby correct birthday. Chides him for getting it wrong.

Reads own blog. Is surprised when there is something new written.

Scratch and Dent Sale

Nothing fits, from dawn on through long afternoon into still and sleepy dusk. I am out to visitors inside my own skin, since today I am an unwelcome guest myself.
Your face don’t fit, honey. You ain’t comin’ in. Back behind the velvet rope with you.
Frame cracked, smeared glass, imperfectly aligned and picture crooked. Up a bit, up a bit, down a bit, down, down. Yes. Just there. That’s it. No. No, you’ve lost it. Try again.
We could improve you with a snip, you know. Another snip, a tuck and a slice. We could tear you into jagged strips, rip you senseless, then wipe clean crucial moments of your memory, incinerate your spare bits in the burn pile, bleed your veins dry of DNA, before trampling and scrunching your leftovers into a hidden landfill under cover of night. Job done - a dirty one, but some unlucky sucker’s got to do it. We would be through by morning, ready to stick a red warning flag in any orifice you like, warning of the added poison synthetics that may cause irritation and inflammation.
My hair is three sizes too loose. My scalp requires belting up. My cerebral cortex needs to be taken out back into a dark, wet alley and given a damn good kicking. My ears aren’t my own; never were, and never will be. Someone threw the mismatched pair at my head and they caught. My nose smells worse than it looks, my looks look worse through my eyes, and my eyes keep rolling sideways at inopportune moments, coming to rest with one gazing heavenwards and the other praying desperately for a final resting place. My fingers crack their knuckles menacingly, serving as a warning that my hands won’t ever stop itching for a chance to smack some sense into my sagging face. My skin sweats, and a single drop of the sugar-salt moisture coaxes my tongue forth to taste. I am the living and dying, inhaling and exhaling image of a perfect imperfect human-being; a being-human made flesh and bone.
From tip to toe and back again, nothing fits, nothing works.
This product contains moving parts. Maintenance should only be carried out by an authorised dealer. Warning: warranty void if removed.

My most sincere.

Thanks a million.
It’s such an insipid insincere expression, isn’t it?
Thanks a million. Like a virtual verbal air-kiss.
Mwuh! My fake spit is my gratitude.
I never say thanks a million, though I might say thanks a hundred. Or maybe thanks six.
Thanks ax2+by2+c.
Thanks a parabola.
Thanks a huge enormous biggest ever in the whole world hyperbola.
Thanks infinity.
Thanks a hankering.
Thanks a brain freeze.
Thanks an ounce. Thanks a bunch. Thanks a scab.
Thank heaven. Thanks ever so much.
Thank the academy.
Thanks a hail of bullets.
Thanks a reign of terror.
My favourite of all, and the one I use most often is this: Thanks.

I'm going to count to three

Sometimes I go into the bathroom
and stand in front of the mirror for a long time
with my eyes closed
usually, I'm still there when I open them.

Where to get off.

I'm going to tell you where to go. Go here-http://www.augustlalliflowers.com/August_Lalli_Flowers/Welcome.html
And check out her blog while you are at it.

Crying Out Loud

I was sad yesterday, but when I turned around and looked back at the man across the parking lot sobbing into his hands, my heart broke.
I wanted to rush back to him and grab him up, absorbing his pain. I needed to tell him it would be ok, his friend was in a better place now, but I couldn't honestly.
I ducked behind a car and thought this was just the begining for my son as he rocked back and forth, his large newly muscular shoulders hunched, his no longer innocent face hidden in his hands. There will be more loss for you in the future, more loved ones will leave you before their time. I cannot protect him from that.
Instead I turned, and continued on and gave him all I could. Time to miss his friend without reservation.

SSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Experiencing technical difficulties. Please stand by.

A Millisecond Two Long

you know the way silence feels sometimes
like that instant just after slamming your hand in a door
or stubbing your toe
but before the pain comes?
that's the way now wishing more
than a hundred thousand times
that i could take back what i'd just said
and why

Ice Princess

Consider yourself lucky if you make me scream.
You are one of the few.
Make me raise my voice and yell.
You have cracked my cold shell.
If you cause me to swing my arms with wild abandon
You have got me.
Cause me to turn red in the face
There is no going back from what you've seen
But if I only use my polite normal voice
You are nothing to me.

Actually it Was Never Hers

The sight of her bag by his front door always made him happy. The tattered gym bag meant the girl would sleep over. When she first started spending the night with him, only a change of under ware and cosmetics would travel with her. A bulging bag delighted the lonely man because it was his sign she was his for the weekend. Forty eight warm love filled hours. He would hide her bag on Sunday to prolong her visit. But he never begged her to stay. And so she left for good.

Lavandar

I reached for the forgotten bottle and opened the stopper.
The smell of warm floral sunshine drifted towards me and I thought of him.
I inhaled it's cheer and heard his deep laughter.
I let a drop land on my wrist and remembered his gentle touch.
Rubbing my hand on my throat I pictured his strong body.
My fragrant fingertips traced my navel and I reminisced our future.
I jumped back into the shower because he smelt of death.

My Part Time Gig

Why do you want another job? the staff asked, you work around food all day. My stomach growled and my mouth watered too hard to answer.


http://www.outinglodge.com/

nestled up high

i live up in the clouds. reality is not for me. people say i should come down. that the clouds are not a place for a grown up to be. i smile at them. maybe one day i'll come down. but i never will. reality is not for me. i will stay up here. the view is quite breath taking.

All I Want to Talk About

I've been trying to write you a letter. About the rules for playing Louisiana Pickle and the intricacies and benefits of hot cock sauce- the best possible way to maneuver drunk in a fishing vessel-and how to navigate my basement with or without the lights on. Should duck eggs be used exclusively in baking. Sometimes in it, I investigate why the delete key is missing from your keyboard, and the effects of etymology on the blind. And others just begin with a laundry list of your personal inefficacy's. Then some letters I try to write don't.

Go Head. Take a Swing. I Got Nothing.

Today I sucked.
The owner of my company witnessed my deficensey.
I am plain ineffective.
My boss to the second power enlightened me.
I need to try harder.
My peers informed me.
I am not doing their job.
My subordinates argued with me.
I am unknowable.
Sat alights phoned me.
I am blowing deadlines.
Customers huffed at me.
I am without reason.
Minions yelled at me.
I am right.
I whispered to myself.
After I chewed my insides up.
And spit them on the ground.

Mindless Hiaku

scar remains unseen
vague smile no one home blank stare
lobotomy success

A Shiver or a Tingle

10 things that give me a thrill

10-The sight of my son closing his trumpet case.
9-The fact that there are people at work that are too scared to talk to me.
8-The jar of Rocks hair that sits on my dresser.
7-Aliens visit me regularly.
6- The sound of my boys laughter in their sleep.
5-Those seconds when swooshing down a ski hill on the edge of control when I do not know if I am kicking gravity's butt or it will kick mine.
4-Knowing I am the only one in the family who is cowboy enough to not be scared to hand feed the bull.
3-The BBC version of Gordon Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares. He takes is shirt of every time to change into his chefy coat. Full frontal Ramsey titties thank you luv.
2-My ability to chew my way out of restraints.
1-1 part tequillia,1 part Godiva chocolate liquore, 0 parts clothes

It Happens in Stockholm

Take me away, far far away with you. Sweep me away and off this plane involuntarily, sharply. Smile as you watch me battle myself and give in all the while knowing I won’t and I can’t because unknowingly willing prey simply doesn’t slip through your aching grasp.
Rip every shred of everything from me and lash me to your whims. Force me to feel, to beg, to scream, to squeal with sudden involuntary urges and wild abandon. Thrust me blindfolded into the folds of your mind and let me languish with only your deepest dreams for sustenance for days endless weeks turning to years and tear mixed laughter closing in around us in the dark, musty air of our secret hideout.
Force feed me your love through angush and watch as I leave myself, forget myself, rebirth myself through the canal of your mind and guidance of your touch. Invade me, lacerate my skin, tear me open and flesh me out.Reach in to grab fistfuls of my insides, shred to a fine dust and inhale them with all your senses. Breath new life into me, make me you.

Alms for Grandmother

I watched him for a long while before I volunteered my help. I had lingered while his large strong hands manipulating the crumbling dough between his thick fingers. "Can I help?" I asked. Alm jumped at the sound of my voice, his reverie broken by my question. His face flushed the color of the apples on the counter before him as he stammered his refusal. Everyone else in the kitchen disapeared like shadows in the sunlight at my approach. Caught with his hands in the gooey dough, Alm knew there was no way to deign his guilt. What he didn't know, I was more curious than angry. My eyes shifted from his face to the tattered yellow paper on the counter. It read-

1 cup flour
2 tablespoons sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 lb butter,
2 tablespoons water

apples
orange peel

1/4 cup flour
1/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup butter
1/4 teaspoon salt
cinnamon
allspice

"This your recipe?"
"No", he answered, "my grandmother's."
He would not let me help, nor did I offer my assistance again. But I stood and watched the ungainly janitor create the most delicious pastry to ever come out of that kitchen.
"Alm, you have no direction or measurements written down. How do you make it come out so perfect?"
"Grandmother would make this every Christmas. When I got older and she was sick, I would make it."
I could have sent him to the hole for stealing food. Instead I asked to for a copy of his recipe. I made sure he made enough for all the kitchen workers for his impromptu going away party.
The next day, Alm was shipped to a different facility to serve the remainder of his life sentience for killing his grandmother.

Six Word Memoir

My life in six words:

"Laughter and magic are her children."

Please leave your six word life story as a comment.

Horny But Sensitive

Name: Bone Head

Occupation: floral design

Hobbys: long walks in the moonlight, cud chewing, forien erotica

Use the Door Bell Next Time

Sometimes love chrashes down my door like a storm unannounced.

Othertimes love slips in and waits in a corner paitently for me to notice.

Next time it enters, I'm throwing my own welcome party.

And burning down the fucking house when it's gone.

Young Love

They celibrated their first anniversary in December. It was a year since they became offcial at last years school ski party. This year he got her a teddy bear with a secret love note on the inside to mark the occasion. He hangs at her house and helps her wash goats on her mom's farm. She comes fishing with him . This girl was the first female to infiltrate the gentalmens club in our basement. She lectures him about his home work, he teaches her how to shoot. This picture was taken at his twelveth birthday party.

Love Arangement

“Everything has its place,” explain to you buff new roomate. “And you arrange things according to a certain connection that allows the energies to flow properly throughout the room.”

“Makes sense,” he’ll say.

“If things are rearranged to break the feng shui, very bad things can happen and the house can become a terrible place to live.”

“Don’t want that to happen,” he’ll say.

“So we’re gonna have to slide the couch against the big wall. The entertainment center is gonna have to move over here by the window,” say to him. “And you’re gonna have to incert your tounge down my throat.”

“This goes back centuries,” he’ll say. “Can’t be wrong.”

Your hot roommate will help you to move the couch and the entertainment center and then you’ll both climb on the couch and he’ll groom your tonsils. The house will instantly feel much more livable.

Chocolate for My Heart

In my laundry room my husband keeps two first aid kits. The small one, is full of band aids and ointments that is kept with in easy reach of the children.

The other, he keeps stocked with emergancy chocolate and is unknown to the children.

Doing my wash has kept me from critical harm many times since I fell in love with him.

Eternity in Ten

Close my eyes and count back from 10 9been waiting all my life been waiting 8 7 please let it happen let it happen 6 5 seconds left my heart is racing 4 loves me loves me not 3 stop don't go don't 2 now or never now 1 stay I love you.

Wall Flower for Jacob Dylan

(ppst. that's me in the upper left corner)

Name: Grey Duck ( so my coif has changed as i've aged)

Occupation: Light House Keeper

Hobbies: Water sports, illusions, profiling

boisterious redheads need not reply

Tell Me Something

i do not care where you live or the car you drive.if you know some one who knows some who knows someone.if your clothes are this years hot item.if your trust fund is unlimited.if you are a list or b list or the i'm too cool to be listed.i only care about the words that vibrate from you mind.they are the only thing truly your own.the only thing i will remember you by.i did not fall in love with your bones and skin.i did not fall for the places you have been.i will only love you for the words that vibrate from your mind.

Spice Gurl Seeks Footballer

Name: Ginger

Occupation: Decoration

Hobbies: Catching some rays, looking coy, me time

Strange Love Triangle

Ephram and Wrinkly Joe finally found out that you were dating both of them at the same time, so they went off alone to determine who would be the one to keep you by his side.
You've been waiting at home for hours, wondering which boy would win your hand. You're about to hear a knock on your door, and when you open it you'll see Ephram there with a bouquet of daiseys in his hand.
"Ephram!", you'll shout. "You defeated Wrinkly Joe and won my hand. Oh what sort of gruesome duel did you two gentleman choose to serve as your battleground?"
Ephram will say, "We decided to settle it with a game of Frisbee golf.''Frisbee golf?", you'll ask. Ephram will then explain to you the object of Frisbee golf, which basically amounts to throwing a Frisbee at a bunch of trees. "But that game's real boring, so we gave up before we finished.'' "You left the game unfinished? Then how did you decide who would be the sole recipient of my affections?''
"Uno," Ephram will say. "But Uno sucks unless there's at least three or four people. So we had to play with my Mom and Wrinkly Joes other girlfriend Leslie.'' "And you defeated them all!" you'll shout. "Naaah," Ephram will grumble. "Couldn't win a hand. Neither could Wrinkly Joe. My Mom took two hands and my Mom's boyfriend Steve sat in on a hand and he took that one. Got sick of it after that.''
"Oh but I'm on pins and needles,' you'll say. 'What sort of challenge did you engage in next?''
"Jenga. Then Clue. Then we put on some Dance Revalution we both krumpt at a steady pace to see who could go the longest without colasping. We tied that one. Then did you ever do Sudoku?'' No!" you'll exclaim. 'But I've heard so many wonderful things about it! Is that how you won my love?" Ephram will say, 'Naaah. I just did a bunch of them while I was waiting for Wrinkly Joe to come up with some more ideas. I got so wrapped up in those number puzzles, I didn't even notice him leave. He left you this note. I'm gonna watch "Deal Or No Deal.'' Ephram will hand you the note from Wrinkly Joe and then he'll go into the living room to watch "Deal Or No Deal." The note will read as follows:

My Dearest,I loved you. But I'm just so tired of playing games. Wrinkly Joe.

As you fold up the letter, you'll feel a little heartbroken that Wrinkly Joe would let you go this way. Then you'll hear Ephram gasp at the TV. A contestant on "Deal Or No Deal" will have just decided to make a telephone call to an accountant. You'll cuddle up on the couch next to Ephram, and you'll be glad he's the one you ended up with. If Wrinkly Joe had won, you might never have been able to find out what plan of action the accountant will recommend. In short, you would be lost.

Fun Chick Looking For Hot Cock

name: Eagle

occupation: consultant

hobbies: scratching, pecking, skeet shooting

10 of Love

Ten of the strangest things I have done in the name of love.


10: Made it my mission to have a special education director fired.

9: I slept two weeks on a plastic public couch in a hosptial lobby.

8: I made his favorite food, drove across the state for a surprise lunch. Then moved his office furniture in front of his windows and had sex with him instead.

7: Lied to the attendance office to spend his birthday with him and him alone. Yearly.

6: Arm wresstle and never win.

5: Volenteered to clean the church every week. The church across from his house. (I spent most of my time out at the car trying to get the vacum out of the trunk and waiting for him to apear.)

4: Packed everything I could fit from our home into a boat. Lived out of boat for 2 years.

3: Buried a one hundred forty pound sheep dog in the middle of the night so noone would cry.

2: Mastered "the scorpian" pose.

1:Reseached and constructed a bomb. Later disabled bomb when crush bombed.

Admiting I Have a Problem

I drank too much of your face and hair and eyes (YOUR FREAKING EYES!) and now I'm bloated because I drank too much of your lips and neck and little baby shoulder bend and don't forget that sip I took of every nip of skin within a six inch radius of your belly button which was quite refreshing but did not stop me from drinking too much knee and elbow and top of your head and the balls of your feet and your balls and tongue and the three hearty gulps of the palm of your hand that I downed right after I drank too much of your cheeks and hips and I guzzled your toes and your crow's feet and I swilled too much of your temples and the way you grab my head when you kiss and the five fingertips of your manly left hand plus the chug of your calf and your adams apple, ankle, tricep, eyelash, nipple, backside and right thigh and I also had a very tall glass of that sudden gasp of breath you took when you opened up your eyes and now I have to go and pee or burst.

A Fortnight Of Luvin

My Dearest Readers,

My best intentions are to devote the next fourteen amour filled days with joy and happiness for your reading pleasure. In stead of twelve days of Christmas, you will recieve fourteen days of my warmest regards.
It will be most helpful if you are nakid, a little drunk, and well oiled up, when I return.
All my love,
Munkay

Slave to My Desire

You wake up, head still fuzzy from the previous nights migraine medication and the first complete thought to fill your weary mind is how very much you want some true soul food. You Google your northern state to find the closest joint. It is in the city, past all the construction and broken bridges down town. When you call all your friends and attempt t0 bully/beg them to come with you they will decline your threats/kind offer.
One hour later, you have drug your teenage son and his buddy, sand eyed from their sleep over out of your basement and locked them securely in your back seat. You use the map you printed out in your hand as a visor (the bright sun still hurts your sensitive eyes).
Eli empresses you by knowing every word to "Walk This Way", but when he manages to hit the high scream notes, your bruised brain winces and you turn onto a one way street. This normally would be of little consequences to you but you are now in the heart of the bad part of town, the same reason why a lot of your friends would not accompany you on this missive, and there is a happening over at the venue nearby. You save your self and the still singing kids in the back from a fatal head on crash by maneuvering through a series of parking lots until you realize how horribly lost you have become.
Twenty minutes later, you are back on the right street and bonus, you find a parking spot. You spring from your car chanting "Chicken and Waffles, Chicken and Waffles" loudly to ward off any of the shabby looking miscreants nearby.
The boys and yourself stand there looking up at the empty building that held the gastronomic delights you so craved and scream in earnest, head be damned.
When the waitress at Bakers Square, Heather, who is studying genetic engineering at the collage near by forgets to put in your order for chicken fingers you start to cry. Your son will push his waffle in front of you in the attempt to stifle the unfounded emotional outburst you are having and you will proceed to nam down his syrup coated butter drenched treat while dreaming of hoppin John and greens. When you look up you see the physician who performed your pancreatic transplant enter the eatery, you react by knocking the gooey mess into your lap in your vain attempt not to be noticed.
You stop at the grocery store and pick the ingredients for curry on the way home and remember how much you hate the south.

Possability Boy

Everyone thinks Possibility Boy is possibly a genius. Any day now, they continually agree, possibility boy will make it big. Become a star. "You won't forget use when you are famous, will you?" they ask as possibility boy begins yet another amazing project.
The only one who does not believe in Possibility Boys possible genius is Possibility Boy himself. He thinks they are being too kind. He really isn't gifted at all. He is a fake genius, bluffing his way threw life. He is convinced once he tries to achieve his full potential, he will fail, fall flat on his face, and the people who once admired him from afar, will admire him no more. And so Possibility Boy never really achieves anything. He just sits on the edge of his possible glory and basks in the adulation of his potential.

A Third of a Life Sentince.

His parole hearing was yesterday. The brown eyed inmate was handed down a year and a year. That means he has one more year behind bars here and then a year on the other side of the fence-minimum security . I released him from his job running my warehouse and the only chance he will have to try to talk to me will be during meal time . He is in for murdering his last woman.
I should have written an incident report on him right away, before his hearing, but I was too embarrassed.
Now I am scared.

First Ack

I sat all the way through the advanced first aid training classes without batting an eye. I got up early, drove my sleepy butt all the way downtown through traffic to the academy and found the property appointed spot before the crack of dawn with out incident.
The boring training films were dry and out dated, but I did not nod off. I sat next to a woman with a highly contagious cold and a hard of hearing man who repeated, "What did he just say?", so often I actually only heard every forth sentence. By the end of my sessions I myself resembled a wheezy parrot. Locking lips with a plastic chick who's first name is all I ever learned, (Annie or Anny? is it eh?) didn't ruffle me, nor did rolling around on a dirty floor with sixty strangers. Hell, even the picture montage of gory body pieces the EMS guys brought with, the one of motorcycle vrs car and dude's leg bones pointed in different directions after an explosion didn't faze me a bit. I can now tourniquet a coat rack protruding from your abdomen and differentiate a stroke and a heart attack. If you set yourself on fire or get sung by a bee, I'm good. I can even throw you up over my shoulders and run with you if I decide I must. I just can't swallow.
During the choking segment of training, our teacher just happened to mention the aging population is prone to choking. This is due the the weakening of throat muscles and the gag reflex slowing. This thought totally blew me away.
I am excepting my aging reluctantly. I know I have only more maintenance on my body to look forward to every year. Stiffening joints, osteoporosis, memory loss, I know is expected of me. But the inability to swallow? Please God no.
I spent the rest of the day during breaks in classes at the vending machines testing this lax throat muscle theory.
Nothing happened, other than gas from all the junk I consumed. (I'd whisper to the others in my group when the hard of hearing man's back was turned,"Oh man, does this guy reek!")
But the image of me losing control of one of my two favorite entrance muscles stuck with me.
The very next morning I was in my own kitchen, scarfing down an apple in my attempt to detox my body of the unhealthy chemicals I had binged on the previous day when part of the skin momentarily caught in my throat. I immediately began hacking like a cat coughing up a fur ball. I found myself doing this repeatedly through out the day.
"What is wrong with you?", my family asks every time I began to hork. How could I explain that I have gone all *Margaret Brown on them and it was the beginning of my demise.
Thing is so far it is only slight. I do not lose my breath and turn blue in the face, but I feel food hanging out mid way to my belly. This upsets my self reasoning greatly. Good food should never projectile out of me. The hypochondriac in my has come up with a very lady like hiccup do dislodge any suspended food particles.
"You do have the hiccups very often", my dinner companions will remark. I smile all coy and pat my napkin over my mouth and hork again for good measure, as I nod and look away. I do not eat other meals any longer in public. I had to pull over on the side of the road the other day to re chew the imaginary granola bar wedge that was breakfast.
Yogurt is my new best friend. Except when I forget it is yogurt and I shoot it out my nose.

*Up north when I was young and could swallow successfully I worked in a bakery. Margaret Brown was an elderly woman who would come in during the summer, a coat covering her dowers hump, wearing a scarf, and gloves. She claimed air conditioners upset her system. She always had a lemon bar because she found them refreshing. She did not come in for her coffee once for a week. When I asked her why see told me she had stepped on an electric cord in her apartment and it had upset her system bad. She did have the good sense not to sit on the same side of the room as Old Smeller, the grizzly bachelor who only dressed in bib overhauls and bathed yearly, maybe. I now wish I had been kinder to that crazy old bat.

Local Woman Snaps

Neighbhors say woman kept mostly to herself

Munkay shown here with innocent son.

"She is the mischievous sort, you know, like dressing scare crows in her family's clothes and posing them oddly around the yard and all. Never seen the cops there much anymore. "Used to though, few years back, there would be cops lights flashing and ambulances over there at all hours... but I was under
the impression that all changed lately."

"I used to send my own kids over her house", another neighbor said. The kids would always come home smelling of maple syrup and sore from something they called "Sumo Mama". Never gave it a second thought."

"She once forced me to taste 4 different almond cakes once. I went home and told my mom right away. She told me I couldn't hang out in a 4 cake house no more", said Jordan aged 9.

"Pure trash", descibed those who wished to remain anonymous claimed. "You could hear shots often and see flames coming from over there."

This is what channel 4 eye witness news reports about a local woman that snapped earlier today in the cold January morning hours.

Witnesses seen the mother cavorting around at the water's edge before the alleged incident occurred. The suburban mother that goes by "Munkay", was sighted in what appears to be a uniform.

Smiling the woman stands in the sub temperatures and hams it up for the jeering on lookers, oblivious to the frightened look in her kids eyes.

"He said he wanted to go in the frozen water", the mother quoted later, although clearly the disturbed woman pulled him in by the hand.

"It all happened before I could do anything." said the boys father a milliscend later. "I mean there were law enforcement everywhere. "

The boy emerged onto the ice first much to the waiting crowds relief. But where was the villainous mother?

"YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME", the woman's other son exclaimed at the scene. "That retarded woman turned around and jumped back in the water again!"

The woman was last seen walking briskly off past the authorities half dressed. "I will not run. Frozen stabbing pain? No. More like kitten tongues" her parting remark. If seen consider this woman highly dangerous. Do not try to apprehend her. Your safest measure is divert her with some hot chocolate.

You Will Know What to Do When the Pigs Come

You will sit at your desk when the eye twitch starts to happen. There you will sit, working on the quarterly report, trying not to think of the camera's recording your every unconscious nose pick while you pretend the one hundred and seven eyes you employ have better things to do with their time then gaze at you to see if your hair today is parted in the middle or at an angle. Then, out of left field it goes. Squint. Squint. You will ask yourself, "Did I just do that?" And more important, did the camera's catch it? Has the team up in A control now labeled you as Popeye you will wonder as you have difficulty finding the auto center on your Word document. Then no longer able to trust your now spasming eye's depth perception, you click on every icon on your header the and your report will take twice as long to write as usual so by the time you step out of your office for the day your staff will have heard about you unmanageable facial tick and speculate on weather or not you have suffered a mild stroke or are just hitting whatever is in the bottle you have hidden in the second drawer of your desk. In the saliport you make eye contact as best you can with the guard in front command before you leave the facility, you will nod to on your way out and remind yourself to pitch the stretched out faded "lucky" purple leopard print panties that turned out not so lucky after that drunken tailgating incident, just encase tomarrow is the day you are picked for a strip search. Under your breath you practice saying, "Ya, I used to run every day but, with this job....my body..."
On your drive home as you wait in traffic with one hand clapt over your spastic eye, the conversation you had with your supervisor about the average times a corrections employee will be under investigation in a year will replay it's self then. "Times in a year" will echo through your head, as you try counting how often the neighbors dog has barked in the middle of the night, and wonder if the you should stop snow blowing around your home so foot prints are easier to disconcern.
Over dinner you will use your napkin much more often and remind your boys to chew with their mouth closed, cause if someone is taking notes, manners will be under the positive column thank you. "Wear pants dammit!", will be your mantra as you go from window to window compulsively closing what flimsy drapes you have. You will drag out the dark blue sheets and vacillate for half an hour about the tackiness of hanging them up all collage like but will decide against it due to drug dealer vibe hanging bed clothes emits.
When you finally sit down with your lap top you consider to stop blogging but then remember the name in your drivers licence is spelt different than what is on your site and you relax enough to watch a rerun of "Cops" of which you will take notes, rehersing phrases such as "I don't know who's that is!" and "Please Officer! Just this once!" Everyone on that program is arrested while wearing stained t-shirts and in dirty houses so you spend the rest of your night bleaching your laundry and scrubbing your kitchen. You will pick up your phone and dial your church to hang up before anyone answers just for the benefit of your phone record.You will fall asleep exhausted right before your alarm clock goes off the next morning, and you will not remember where you put the coffee last night, so you will spent 40 minutes rifling the contends of your newly organized cupboards and lose the shower time window so you will shuffle back into work with the worse bed head ever. Leaning against the garbage receptacle you fall asleep in the saliport, with the front command just on the other side of the Plexiglas. (At least your eye will not be twitching when it is closed.) When the sound of the steel doors open and wake you, you will be confused and not remember if you where coming or going.

You will be proud when you have the sense to e-mail your report to the warden instead of hand delivering it to avoid any awkward face-to twitchy face small talk. Smiling a smug little self satisfied smile you lean back, eye now at half mast and reach for your water bottle, in the second drawer, that is now sitting a quarter of an inch to the right of where you left it last.

Sweet Release

"You really hurt me. I mean I'm not good at talkin about how I feel, but you hurt me bad."
I looked up into his moist brown eyes.
"What do you mean?", I asked him.
"See it's like this. You didn't tell me things had changed. I showed up and you were not here."
"Yes. Didn't anyone tell you?"
"You. I needed you to tell me. You could have told me when we were together here on Saturday."
His full bottom lip trembled when he talked. Then he took of his glasses and wiped his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to compose his next words and his countenance.I wanted to tell him I just didn't care. I wanted to tell him he was wasting my time. His emotional display meant nothing yo my soulless self. I wanted to tell him just to shut his mouth. But I knew he needed to say these things. I could pretend at lease to listen. But only so much.
"That's not how you do a man. I thought you were different..."
"But you are leaving anyway", I said looking at him sideways. I could no longer bring myself to look at him straight on.
"I looked out for you from the start. You know that," he tossed his long dark curls indigently.
"I could have got in serious trouble for Saturday. It could affect my future."
"I'm sorry. I should have told you myself. I did not mean to get you into trouble." I gave him that.
"I care about you. I really really do. From day one I have."
I wanted to scream no. no. no. no. no. stop. shut up. shut the hell up you are making this worse. There was a time when I would have loved to hear this. Back before now. Way back. The time when men like him said this shit just to get into my pants.
"This is inappropriate."
"I can do things for you. Woman like you are few."
"Your parole hearing is next week yes?"
"I can DO things for you."
"I'm going to fill out the release paper for you right now. If you show up here tomorrow, you will not get to your hearing."
"This hurts worse than catching a cap."
"Good luck on the outside."
I still don't know what he wanted.

Going Under

The sun was warm on her face as she languished on her kick sled facing south. There the contented woman sat, a slight smile played on her face as she reclined, occasionally opening her eyes to peer at the blaze orange tip ups off in the distance guarding the family's other fishing rods. The fish were not biting hard that day, but she did not care. A ways behind her, in the blue patched fish house her husband had made years before the boys sat in their shirt sleeves close to the heater. It was too crowded in there for the woman, so she ventured off on her own and relaxed, her reveries broken occasionally by the sound of the harmonica, or their fighting. When her husbands snores became too loud, she would stand, and whip a snow ball back at the shack, then return to her own peace. As the day grew on, so did the rumble of snow machines, and all terrain vehicles.

By noon a shanty town had sprung up around her. The group to her right turned a foot ball game on their portable TV. And yet she sat in the middle of the lake, lost in her own little world reading the thick book in her lap, jigging her line. When she wrapped her mitter around her face she could not see anyone, could not see anything with the bright sun shinning down on her except the bobber between her shearling lined feet. When the hoots of the pack of men to the east caused her to lift her cap and watch as they landed a beautiful large fish to the frozen lakes surface, she grinned and tilted her head back and pulled the wool down around her eyes farther. After the men whent back inside their fancy deluxe fishing contraption they had drug on to lake with next years model ATV, she waited and then flung snow balls at their tip ups to spring their warning flags for her own amusement.

Slowly it became quiet again in her little world. As the day wore on her hand reached down for the Thermos at her right And her finger became wet from the water her coffee was sitting in. She ate her pocket of ginger snaps and tapped her foot along to the Areosmith song her kid was butchering on the mouth organ in the windowless shelter behind her. Her foot make a splashing sound and she sat up to look at the puddle that was soaking into her feet. The woman, now fully awake, jumped up and yanked off her head gear and scanned her surroundings. The wooden fish houses, closer to shore where still standing, but without a single automobile next to them. A few ATVs were along side the plastic or canvas portable shelter, but other than her family's large truck, there was not another car. She ran as fast as she could, screaming her husband's name as she sloshed and skidded back toward were her family sat. "Wake up! Wake up! GET OFF THE LAKE NOW!


Her husband stuck his head out the door and blinked with confusion. 8Two minuets later, their fish house loaded into the back of the truck without being disassembled totally, she watched her man, and one of her sons speeding off the lake, truck doors open , the water from their wheels welling up in their wake.


She grabbed up her fishing rods, and threw them on her sled and took a different course from her husbands to shore. **She kicked that sled as fast and as hard as she could, leaving her oldest son to run behind her.


The man and the boy were already at the boat landing, securing the items in the bed on the truck when she made it to shore, her oldest son at her heels. ***The ride home was quite, the adults shame thunderous.






*If you drive with your doors open you have a better chance of surfacing if you break through the ice.

** I had him chase me, because he is not good with the sled and if I would follow him like I wanted to do he would not go as fast and might run into black ice not knowing the danger

***Today we were the stupid people we make fun of on the ice every other year.

All My Friends Are Aliens

I go out looking for aliens. I walk slow. You might say I walk too slow. But someone once said they envied me for my lack of pace. I walk even slower, just to make sure. Always a day late and a dollar short. Always a day late and a dollar short. I make a wish and it escapes my cold mouth like a fish swimming through the blue river sky.
I walk as slowly as I can. Avoiding the cracks. I don't look back. It is my only plan. It is my only care. Please don't stare. I know they are out there. Aliens. Conceald in clouds. Out of sink. Above the horizon. Below the radar. Disconnected. Graceful. Shy. Watching me from way up high.
All my friends are aliens.

The Neibhors Cheered When The Party Ended

"There you are! Glad you could make it. Welcome. C'm on in. I'll take your coat. I'll just throw it.., well I'm just going to let it drop right here. I'm too tired to bother. Wanna drink? I got some flat root beer? No? Well lets go into the living room eh? You know Crazy Steve over in the corner. Debiziale brush some of those candy wrappers off the arm chair there ya? Everyone else introduce yourselves to our new guest, if any of you are awake. I'll yell down stair and get the others up out of the basement. You comfy now? Good. Want some semi melted Christmas peeps? They are left over from last night too. Mind you eat around the dark pebbly parts. it might be shrapnel from the fire crackers they were melted with. No, I already took the tree down, or the kids did last night. Stripped it, dragged it out in the back pasture and poured gas on it. Yeah you should of been here. After we bought dinner with all our miscellaneous gift cards from the holiday- Oh it was a spread. Funky cheese, gravlox, strange fruit, shrimp, prime rib-but anyway, we "toasted" the peeps with firecrackers and then wrapped a sting of Blackcats around the tree and set it off with a bottle rocket. Oh! It was glorious! Wait. Where are you going? Don't you want to see the slides of what happened when I brought out the "back room Wisconsin deathbox pyrotechnics's? Ok then, you better be here next year. Happy new year anyway."

A New Resalution

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

8 Take out additional insurance before attempting #7.

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

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



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

Queen Anne Cordials

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

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

Getting My War Face On

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

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

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


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

Rock Star Locks

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

All I Want

Dear Santa,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Getting What I Want

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

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

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

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

Wild Hearts

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

Starting Something

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


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



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



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



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

Resume

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

The Sounds of Early Morning

At about 6:15 I ran out of my door and dropped my keys down the temporary metal ramp my husband had leaned against the porch seven years earlier, when we built the house in lew of the wooden stairs he had planned. It was startling cold with a wind chill of minus 14 below and I was running late. Normally I would have been at work already for a good half an hour, mediating my crew, but this morning it was too cold for me to leave my cozy bed. My keys made a scratching sound on the ramp before coming to a crunching stop at the gravel. The wild cats meowed their good mornings as they rose with a rustle from their recycling box homes when I headed to my cold jeep to rev it's frozen engine into life. The heater whooshed frosty air on my ankles. My wind chimes clinked with a brittle sound in the wind on my porch when I stepped out of my car. Hubby had proudly made them out left over polished brass pipe from his last job for me. I hated them at first. I was annoyed that they broke my silence. I would pull it's clanker over the banister to quieten them. But now I think of him when I hear them, how he tried to make me something beautiful instead of practical. I always welcome the sound of his love.
There was a rustling sound in the hen house, but not yet a crow. The chickens were not fast to leave their warm beds ether.
I clunked back across my deck into the house for my warm cup of coffee to go, and my brief case when I was greeted by K1 who had slipped in front of the kitchen TV in my short absents outside.
"Morning Mom", his greeting is brief, knowing I can only grunt at him this time of day. The smack of our lips is heard over the morning news."Ugh coffee breath", he mutters.
I hear the sound of the steady hum of the oxygen machine being turned off and know Hubby is now awake and will not let me out of his sight without some conversation to start his day.
I slip out the door as fast and soft as I can without spilling my coffee.
On the radio in my jeep the local DJ is talking of the untimely death of the singer from Quiet Riot.
I sing along to "Come on feel the noise", in my morning frog voice as I pull out of my drive. I hurt my own ears and embarrass myself in front of me. I gave myself a warning glare in the rear view mirror, but was glad when I could not see myself.

For the War but Against the Troops

I know certain people on my staff go threw my desk. My desk is in a locked office but every one in my company has a key because that is where we store the cantraband (ceyanne pepper for making home made mace, yeast for hooch, ect...). There are few seacrets in the kitchen as the cilivan cooks bid their time gossiping about the fellow co-workers. I figured out they have been going through my papers for some time, as they are not very good at putting my things back. I now lock the confedental papers in my supervisiors office- the one only I have a key for.
But last week I threw them a test crumb.
I wrote two of the biggest know it all's names on one of my note pads really hard.

JOAN
>FIRE
MIKE


Then I tore the top page off the note pad and left the imprints behind that was barley discernible.


Yesterday was a pleasure to work as now those two snoops think they will be fired. Somehow the entire place knows, including guards and the other shifts. I can not wait for one of them to build up the courage to ask me if they still have a job.

The Day is Coming

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.

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.

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

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.

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.