Thursday, March 19, 2009
So she replied,
"I THOUGHT YOU WERE A FIGHTER!", as she bend to pick up the broken lamp he had just broke with his miss aimed blow.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Commercial Break 09
Looking out the bedroom window.
Northern beaver are extra furry and there is a reason they smell like fish.
I smell fuds
Your not a wolf are you?
Simon says one step closer
Hand fed Bambi
So she replied,
"Take the costume off for once will ya? Be a real nobody and stop trying so hard to be a fake somebody."
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
So she replied,
"Alaska has a monthly living expense allowance? That settles it- I move to Canada and become a citizen. Move back to Minnasota, apply for a small buiesness loan. Charge up a bunch of stuff-move it all up to Alaska and never work another day in my life".
So she replied,
"Lack a Punch!! We'll take the picknick out on the lake and have a boat!" When excited her brain works faster than her mouth.
Monday, March 16, 2009
So she replied,
"No mew you! Momma lurves her sweet sweet baby angle lover sooo much *smooch smooch smooch...", stopping when she saw the movement of the Culigan man who lingered too long.
So she replied,
"I like mad Bob. You should bring him out more often", to the quiet balding man in the back.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
So she replied,
"The only reason you'd take hard drugs is to lose weight? What about the trip?" to her best retarded friend who was skinny to begin with.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
On The Way To Canada
Day three on the expedition to Canada finds my party stranded. The snow covers the windows of the lodge and the tracks we made made an hour ago have disappeared.
The shelter we have has closed for the season, it is just me, my two hearty boys, and the inn keeper, Gale.
Our attempts for sustenance this morn were fruitful, providing us with four rainbow lake trout. But we have no means of cooking our dinner, as the inn keeper, a kind gentle spirit has locked himself in his quarters and the fire in our rooms, gas.
The last ting we supt on was a local dish, Goober Burgers and Moose drool. It has given us the energy to return to our base.
We have one box of Thin Mint girl Scout cookies. Some cocoa. Oh and the pie we could not finished dinner, which is not really a pie but more of a crisp.
Please please sent help soon. We have no TV. No cell phone. Our plans of being Ghost Hunters International is stymied here with the only sighting of abnormal phenomenon is the bar tender over at Gunflint Lodge's tale of the radio that does not always shut off right. No one else around here is talking and spring break may be over by the time we make it to that fort in Thunder Bay with misty solders that walk through walls and the hotel that freaks even it's oldest workers old into the night.
When I find my camera cord I will post pic's of the survivors that do not get eaten or fall along the way.
The shelter we have has closed for the season, it is just me, my two hearty boys, and the inn keeper, Gale.
Our attempts for sustenance this morn were fruitful, providing us with four rainbow lake trout. But we have no means of cooking our dinner, as the inn keeper, a kind gentle spirit has locked himself in his quarters and the fire in our rooms, gas.
The last ting we supt on was a local dish, Goober Burgers and Moose drool. It has given us the energy to return to our base.
We have one box of Thin Mint girl Scout cookies. Some cocoa. Oh and the pie we could not finished dinner, which is not really a pie but more of a crisp.
Please please sent help soon. We have no TV. No cell phone. Our plans of being Ghost Hunters International is stymied here with the only sighting of abnormal phenomenon is the bar tender over at Gunflint Lodge's tale of the radio that does not always shut off right. No one else around here is talking and spring break may be over by the time we make it to that fort in Thunder Bay with misty solders that walk through walls and the hotel that freaks even it's oldest workers old into the night.
When I find my camera cord I will post pic's of the survivors that do not get eaten or fall along the way.
Monday, March 02, 2009
Box of Monsters
June 13, 1974 was my dads 45th birthday. Mom took me to the First National Bank of Graceton that day. She went in uniform, navy pleated skirt, matching sweater set, nylons, and her pointy heeled shoes that left holes in our yard. She also curled her hair and secured it back with a head band, as was the style of the time. She wore the long chain necklace with the turquoise flower dad had bought for her when he had worked construction out the Phoenix. As if the money grandma had left her in the savings account was not enough. The necklace swung as she walked up to the tellers window.
"I'm here to make a withdrawal for my husbands birthday."
She left with an envelope containing $200. without telling me what she was getting him and swore me to secrecy during the twelve mile ride home in our old dusty blue Dodge Polara.
At home I whispered the news to my sister under the willow tree at the edge of our yard where the tall grass ended and the garden started. We wondered what she could buy with all that money. My older sister Debbie who was nine and all practical guessed it was something the whole family could use, like our first color TV with a real antenna in place of a coat hanger, or a shiny car with a heater. I ventured it must be a trip to Mexico because I had recently learned of Mexico in Mrs. Christenson's kindergarten class. "Don't be stupid", Debbie said and punched me good in the arm, because she had known about Mexico for a long time, and thought mom would not take dad to a place they speak funny. I punched her back for calling me stupid then we both decided it had to be a swimming pool to go where the rhubarb had been planted because after all we did not have rhubarb for two years. I was six but I acted like like five and a half so I had to make an oath not to pee in our new pool.
"What should we get dad?", Deb asked as Skipper our heeler and Goldie our tom shared our shade, after we had finished arguing who would do the first cannon ball into the pool. Every Christmas, birthday, or gift giving occasion she would ask me the same question. We both got an allowance. She fifty cents and me a dime for feeding the cow which wasn't at all fair. She did carry the heavy water but I was the one who walked in front of her so the cow would stretch out her neck and lick the salt off my bare legs with her rough tongue as Debbie poured the water into the trough. It was me who, when I remember too, opened the granary door and yelled, "RUN MICE", before Debbie would enter to scoop up Chrystal's dinner oats. I had a lot of plans for my cash. I wanted to save my money to buy Goldie his own cat bed so when I woke up in the morning I would not be twisted into a corner of the bed I shared with the cat and my sister.
"Lets make something" I ventured not wanting to part with my hard earned money and knowing Debbie to be the creative one would end up doing the work.
"But mom got dad something big. We need to get dad a big thing too", Debbie counter acted.
My mat buddy during nap time in Mrs Christansons room, Elaine, told me about the sea monkeys advertised in the back of her Archie comic books. She planned on growing them in shot glasses on her dresser near her bed and would tell me how big they got when we met again in the fall. I would do anything to grow a bigger sea monkey than Elaine. I didn't have a shot glass with to measure, our parents drank their whiskey from burnt orange plastic tumblers marked with imprints of Skippy's pointy teeth.
That was a long way of saying I never had any money to spare. Debbie on the other hand was good at saving and she could make anything.
"Making him something is more better that stuff we could buy at the store", I said trying to imagine what a giant sea monkey would look like and how superior I would feel when I told that Elaine.
"What are you going to make?" Debbie asked me.
I was good at making mud pies, and drawing monsters. I was also good at pouring milk over Graham crackers on a saucer till they got just the right mushy constancy to eat with a spoon. The mud pies always crumbled away into dust. My monster where no big deal. I drew pages of different monsters constantly. I had note books of scary monsters. Volumes of gross ugly monsters. I would sit under our kitchen table and draw funny monster on the chipboard side of the Formica in crayon. I drew monsters for everyone in our family. The pad of monsters I gave dad last winter he said he liked. But I watched dad crumple up page after page of my drawings for kindling in the kitchen wood burner from the crack in my bedroom door on the cold winters mornings as I dressed for school. And only I enjoyed my mush. Probley due to the fact I had no front teeth. I had purposely worried the baby teeth out of my mouth before my permanent ones were ready to grow into their place. The tooth fairy after all paid as much per tooth as a weeks worth of cow licks or yelling at rodents.
"Enh don't know", I answered bitting on a corner of my bottom lip with my side teeth.
So we moved ourselves into our front porch. Goldie the cat lay on the warm window still. Skipper at his post of the top step outside the door. Deb covered the paint spattered table with the Sunday paper and hauled out the trove of craft items from the dime store in town. Mom was all pro arts and crafts, not wanting her daughters to waste all their time idle with our face in a book had invested in our future by providing us the tools to create. Glue, pipe cleaners, water paints left over from school were mixed in with a jumble of potholder weaving loops and a few Popsicle sticks.
"What are you going to make?" I asked my sister who was always claimed charge of the craft supplies. I also hoped she would want me to help. But I knew she would roll her blue eyes at anything made of mud or crackers.
"We should probly each make separate stuff. If can't give dad something big, then we need to make him more things."
I watched my sister try to make our balding dad a toupee out of pipe cleaners only to abandon it when she ran out of brown.
I make myself a snacky snack of sun warmed cracker mush by leaving it in the direct afternoon sunlight. Unfortunately Goldie woke up and helped himself to my saucer as I watched Debbie switch her efforts to making a cover for dads black plastic eye glass frames. I had tried to wash the wielding dust off his eyeglasses and dipped them in the boiling water mom had left on the stove as she cooked potatoes for dinner. Dad was able to bend them when they were still warm back to fit his face again, they just were no longer a solid black color. Some parts were a lighter gray, even whitish. When I looked at dad after that, especially from the side his glasses reminded me of Chrystal's coat.
I knew if I just kept quiet long enough and stayed out of my sisters way, I could add my own special touch to her project after she left it and could claim some credit.
"Make something runt" Debbie ordered me when she realized I wasn't doing anything but petting the mush stealing cat after I had changed my clothes.
I picked up my tablet and reached for my Crayolas. My choice of colors were limited as I disliked the intense purple and the drab green so much I had buried them in mom's flower bed. It was easy to shove their still sharp unused points down into the soft earth around the lillys. My red had melted over Christmas when Mrs Christenson had us push our book bags up against the radiator at school to make room for the tree. Most of the rest of my small box were broken. Yellow and brown were really all I needed, and maybe a blue ink pen to draw a bossy monster with it's hair all sticking up with glue and Popsicle sticks as I watched my sister create over the top of of my pad as I drew.
The arrival of the Montgomery Wards delivery truck backing into our dirt drive was enough to make us drop our crafts forgotton and charge outside.
Then we ran right back inside the house and hid behind the curtains when we remember how shy we were and not knowing if Tom Mosher who ran the catalog outlet store in town was a good guy or not.
After mom paid shady Tom with all the money in her envelope we stood outside squeeling with eyes large in awe of the biggest cardboard box we had ever seen.
A box big enough to hold our pool and a latter. But mom made us wait to open it with it being dads birthday present and all.
When the old yellow Chevy pick up truck pulled into the yard at dinner time we were dancing around the box.
"What my girls got there?"
"Happy birthday" said Debbie and mom who had joined us. "OPEN IT" I yelled not being civilized like a six year old who acted five and a half and was already dressed in a swim suit.
Dad slowly walked around the box, hand rolled cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth he reached into his pocket and pulled out his knife as he figured out how to best open the container without damaging whatever was inside.
Dad cut around the bottom end of the box ever so slowly pulled the box up....
over....
a large...
white....
"FREEZER?"
"It's a freezer?"
"I like this present a lot" dad exclaimed.
I don't ever remember dad saying the word love. Like was as good as it got. I did not love or even like that stinkin freezer. Never did.
But in the fall it would hold the venison and the meat from Chrystal my parents also called venison to keep my sister from crying at the table. I knew it was not deer but would not cry chosing to crawl under the table and visit my happy monsters. Meat was not as big a concern to a girl with limited chewing ability.
Dad did not let me fill the freezer up with our hose and swim in it before he moved it down into our dark scary cellar. Matter of fact that big fancy freezer had a lock and he locked it right up on me while he was trying to find a way to move that heavy thing down the rickety stairs. Nothing in our house had a lock on it. I stood in front of that massive chest staring at the lock right at my eye level, defeated in my bathing suit. We even left the keys in the Dodge.
But dad did let us camp in that big cardboard box. We slept out there in the yard where the pool should have gone for two nights. One the third night it started to rain sometime and we woke up the next morning in our bed, Goldie in his spot right in the middle. The next day our box was soaked through. Not even good enough to draw on.
The last time I was to our old house, Skippy and Goldie were long gone. The cellar didn't terrify me at all. There in a corner under the stairs that freeze did not look quite so big. After searching my parents old farmhouse I found the only set of keys were ever brought into it. The freezer void of all animals, empty except for one old shoe box. Inside were two pictures. One age yellowed crude picture of a toothless monster and one hairless with spotty glasses.
"I'm here to make a withdrawal for my husbands birthday."
She left with an envelope containing $200. without telling me what she was getting him and swore me to secrecy during the twelve mile ride home in our old dusty blue Dodge Polara.
At home I whispered the news to my sister under the willow tree at the edge of our yard where the tall grass ended and the garden started. We wondered what she could buy with all that money. My older sister Debbie who was nine and all practical guessed it was something the whole family could use, like our first color TV with a real antenna in place of a coat hanger, or a shiny car with a heater. I ventured it must be a trip to Mexico because I had recently learned of Mexico in Mrs. Christenson's kindergarten class. "Don't be stupid", Debbie said and punched me good in the arm, because she had known about Mexico for a long time, and thought mom would not take dad to a place they speak funny. I punched her back for calling me stupid then we both decided it had to be a swimming pool to go where the rhubarb had been planted because after all we did not have rhubarb for two years. I was six but I acted like like five and a half so I had to make an oath not to pee in our new pool.
"What should we get dad?", Deb asked as Skipper our heeler and Goldie our tom shared our shade, after we had finished arguing who would do the first cannon ball into the pool. Every Christmas, birthday, or gift giving occasion she would ask me the same question. We both got an allowance. She fifty cents and me a dime for feeding the cow which wasn't at all fair. She did carry the heavy water but I was the one who walked in front of her so the cow would stretch out her neck and lick the salt off my bare legs with her rough tongue as Debbie poured the water into the trough. It was me who, when I remember too, opened the granary door and yelled, "RUN MICE", before Debbie would enter to scoop up Chrystal's dinner oats. I had a lot of plans for my cash. I wanted to save my money to buy Goldie his own cat bed so when I woke up in the morning I would not be twisted into a corner of the bed I shared with the cat and my sister.
"Lets make something" I ventured not wanting to part with my hard earned money and knowing Debbie to be the creative one would end up doing the work.
"But mom got dad something big. We need to get dad a big thing too", Debbie counter acted.
My mat buddy during nap time in Mrs Christansons room, Elaine, told me about the sea monkeys advertised in the back of her Archie comic books. She planned on growing them in shot glasses on her dresser near her bed and would tell me how big they got when we met again in the fall. I would do anything to grow a bigger sea monkey than Elaine. I didn't have a shot glass with to measure, our parents drank their whiskey from burnt orange plastic tumblers marked with imprints of Skippy's pointy teeth.
That was a long way of saying I never had any money to spare. Debbie on the other hand was good at saving and she could make anything.
"Making him something is more better that stuff we could buy at the store", I said trying to imagine what a giant sea monkey would look like and how superior I would feel when I told that Elaine.
"What are you going to make?" Debbie asked me.
I was good at making mud pies, and drawing monsters. I was also good at pouring milk over Graham crackers on a saucer till they got just the right mushy constancy to eat with a spoon. The mud pies always crumbled away into dust. My monster where no big deal. I drew pages of different monsters constantly. I had note books of scary monsters. Volumes of gross ugly monsters. I would sit under our kitchen table and draw funny monster on the chipboard side of the Formica in crayon. I drew monsters for everyone in our family. The pad of monsters I gave dad last winter he said he liked. But I watched dad crumple up page after page of my drawings for kindling in the kitchen wood burner from the crack in my bedroom door on the cold winters mornings as I dressed for school. And only I enjoyed my mush. Probley due to the fact I had no front teeth. I had purposely worried the baby teeth out of my mouth before my permanent ones were ready to grow into their place. The tooth fairy after all paid as much per tooth as a weeks worth of cow licks or yelling at rodents.
"Enh don't know", I answered bitting on a corner of my bottom lip with my side teeth.
So we moved ourselves into our front porch. Goldie the cat lay on the warm window still. Skipper at his post of the top step outside the door. Deb covered the paint spattered table with the Sunday paper and hauled out the trove of craft items from the dime store in town. Mom was all pro arts and crafts, not wanting her daughters to waste all their time idle with our face in a book had invested in our future by providing us the tools to create. Glue, pipe cleaners, water paints left over from school were mixed in with a jumble of potholder weaving loops and a few Popsicle sticks.
"What are you going to make?" I asked my sister who was always claimed charge of the craft supplies. I also hoped she would want me to help. But I knew she would roll her blue eyes at anything made of mud or crackers.
"We should probly each make separate stuff. If can't give dad something big, then we need to make him more things."
I watched my sister try to make our balding dad a toupee out of pipe cleaners only to abandon it when she ran out of brown.
I make myself a snacky snack of sun warmed cracker mush by leaving it in the direct afternoon sunlight. Unfortunately Goldie woke up and helped himself to my saucer as I watched Debbie switch her efforts to making a cover for dads black plastic eye glass frames. I had tried to wash the wielding dust off his eyeglasses and dipped them in the boiling water mom had left on the stove as she cooked potatoes for dinner. Dad was able to bend them when they were still warm back to fit his face again, they just were no longer a solid black color. Some parts were a lighter gray, even whitish. When I looked at dad after that, especially from the side his glasses reminded me of Chrystal's coat.
I knew if I just kept quiet long enough and stayed out of my sisters way, I could add my own special touch to her project after she left it and could claim some credit.
"Make something runt" Debbie ordered me when she realized I wasn't doing anything but petting the mush stealing cat after I had changed my clothes.
I picked up my tablet and reached for my Crayolas. My choice of colors were limited as I disliked the intense purple and the drab green so much I had buried them in mom's flower bed. It was easy to shove their still sharp unused points down into the soft earth around the lillys. My red had melted over Christmas when Mrs Christenson had us push our book bags up against the radiator at school to make room for the tree. Most of the rest of my small box were broken. Yellow and brown were really all I needed, and maybe a blue ink pen to draw a bossy monster with it's hair all sticking up with glue and Popsicle sticks as I watched my sister create over the top of of my pad as I drew.
The arrival of the Montgomery Wards delivery truck backing into our dirt drive was enough to make us drop our crafts forgotton and charge outside.
Then we ran right back inside the house and hid behind the curtains when we remember how shy we were and not knowing if Tom Mosher who ran the catalog outlet store in town was a good guy or not.
After mom paid shady Tom with all the money in her envelope we stood outside squeeling with eyes large in awe of the biggest cardboard box we had ever seen.
A box big enough to hold our pool and a latter. But mom made us wait to open it with it being dads birthday present and all.
When the old yellow Chevy pick up truck pulled into the yard at dinner time we were dancing around the box.
"What my girls got there?"
"Happy birthday" said Debbie and mom who had joined us. "OPEN IT" I yelled not being civilized like a six year old who acted five and a half and was already dressed in a swim suit.
Dad slowly walked around the box, hand rolled cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth he reached into his pocket and pulled out his knife as he figured out how to best open the container without damaging whatever was inside.
Dad cut around the bottom end of the box ever so slowly pulled the box up....
over....
a large...
white....
"FREEZER?"
"It's a freezer?"
"I like this present a lot" dad exclaimed.
I don't ever remember dad saying the word love. Like was as good as it got. I did not love or even like that stinkin freezer. Never did.
But in the fall it would hold the venison and the meat from Chrystal my parents also called venison to keep my sister from crying at the table. I knew it was not deer but would not cry chosing to crawl under the table and visit my happy monsters. Meat was not as big a concern to a girl with limited chewing ability.
Dad did not let me fill the freezer up with our hose and swim in it before he moved it down into our dark scary cellar. Matter of fact that big fancy freezer had a lock and he locked it right up on me while he was trying to find a way to move that heavy thing down the rickety stairs. Nothing in our house had a lock on it. I stood in front of that massive chest staring at the lock right at my eye level, defeated in my bathing suit. We even left the keys in the Dodge.
But dad did let us camp in that big cardboard box. We slept out there in the yard where the pool should have gone for two nights. One the third night it started to rain sometime and we woke up the next morning in our bed, Goldie in his spot right in the middle. The next day our box was soaked through. Not even good enough to draw on.
The last time I was to our old house, Skippy and Goldie were long gone. The cellar didn't terrify me at all. There in a corner under the stairs that freeze did not look quite so big. After searching my parents old farmhouse I found the only set of keys were ever brought into it. The freezer void of all animals, empty except for one old shoe box. Inside were two pictures. One age yellowed crude picture of a toothless monster and one hairless with spotty glasses.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Out Of Love
You're all outta love and you're only 38.
"I blew my love on a whole lotta people who didn't deserve it," you say at the dinner table, eyeing your two sons with scorn. Your two sons both give you the finger in response.
"Are you sure you didn't leave some of your love in your other pants," your husband says pointedly. He knows about the affair with the guy who sells you your soft serve.
"I should have been more miserly," you say, ignoring your husband. "What kind of woman am I going to be now?"
Everyone sits and waits for you to do something that a woman who's all outta love might do. Nothing happens. They get hungry and start eating again.
"Pass the salt," your son says.
"Nope," you say.
Everyone drops their forks to their plates and gasps. You realize what you've become and you drop your face into your hands and wail.
"I blew my love on a whole lotta people who didn't deserve it," you say at the dinner table, eyeing your two sons with scorn. Your two sons both give you the finger in response.
"Are you sure you didn't leave some of your love in your other pants," your husband says pointedly. He knows about the affair with the guy who sells you your soft serve.
"I should have been more miserly," you say, ignoring your husband. "What kind of woman am I going to be now?"
Everyone sits and waits for you to do something that a woman who's all outta love might do. Nothing happens. They get hungry and start eating again.
"Pass the salt," your son says.
"Nope," you say.
Everyone drops their forks to their plates and gasps. You realize what you've become and you drop your face into your hands and wail.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Face The Wall
That’s her. Her.
That’s who I want to be today. Her. The one who could kick your ass, fuck you up and fuck you over. And then fuck right off. Hate on her right knuckles, hate on her left. Bile in her heart, with her blood running poison and her mind running on empty. That one, please.
Unless. Unless, no. Not her. Her. The other one. That’s who I want to be today. Her. The one up there on the center stage. The one with the boisterous voice and smile like a magnate. The one for whom even the sun cannot out shine. The one whose heart is never full, she salivates with positives. Give me her outstretched hands and her warm embrace. Yes, absolutely. I understand it all now, thanks to her. So her, please.
No. No, I’ve changed my mind. Sorry. I want to be her. Right now, this minute, this second. That’s who I want to be today. Her. Make me her, please. She walks the walk and she talks the talk. She's got her ducks in a row and is a woman of the world. She’s got the salesman’s patter, the gift of the gab, the words at her fingertips. I’ll take that one, please.
But, oh, I don’t know. What about her? She’s got her head in the clouds and she’s not coming down. Not for anyone. She’s lost and she doesn’t care to be found. She’s seen it all and done it all. She’s gone. Well and truly. She’s stepped off. Risen to a higher plane. She’s all over. All over and out. Make me her, please. Please make me into her. That’s who I want to be today.
What? What do you mean I can't be exchanged. Here's my ID badge, take it. And my drivers licence, it's yours. Sorry about the tickets. You can have my credit cards too.Those girls on the line there, they can't see me right? Doesn't matter. I don't know who I am either.
That’s who I want to be today. Her. The one who could kick your ass, fuck you up and fuck you over. And then fuck right off. Hate on her right knuckles, hate on her left. Bile in her heart, with her blood running poison and her mind running on empty. That one, please.
Unless. Unless, no. Not her. Her. The other one. That’s who I want to be today. Her. The one up there on the center stage. The one with the boisterous voice and smile like a magnate. The one for whom even the sun cannot out shine. The one whose heart is never full, she salivates with positives. Give me her outstretched hands and her warm embrace. Yes, absolutely. I understand it all now, thanks to her. So her, please.
No. No, I’ve changed my mind. Sorry. I want to be her. Right now, this minute, this second. That’s who I want to be today. Her. Make me her, please. She walks the walk and she talks the talk. She's got her ducks in a row and is a woman of the world. She’s got the salesman’s patter, the gift of the gab, the words at her fingertips. I’ll take that one, please.
But, oh, I don’t know. What about her? She’s got her head in the clouds and she’s not coming down. Not for anyone. She’s lost and she doesn’t care to be found. She’s seen it all and done it all. She’s gone. Well and truly. She’s stepped off. Risen to a higher plane. She’s all over. All over and out. Make me her, please. Please make me into her. That’s who I want to be today.
What? What do you mean I can't be exchanged. Here's my ID badge, take it. And my drivers licence, it's yours. Sorry about the tickets. You can have my credit cards too.Those girls on the line there, they can't see me right? Doesn't matter. I don't know who I am either.
Friday, February 06, 2009
Hiring Day
Friday is hiring day. Eight job openings I had to fill today. Positions in the kitchen come open due to mostly terminations for theft. Or Fighting. Some times treatment or education failure. Least often when I have to replace offender workers who get to go home. As much as I hate the crimes that these guys commit that put them into my prison, I am glad for some people when they do get out.
I sit at the metal picnic table in chow hall with my stacks of paper work in front of me and shuffle through the applications. Times are tough and even jobs are hard to get behind bars. Some of the names I have to sort though are made up names, a throwback from the time when the state would pay for any legal document changes. Action Jackson. Federal Murder. Judge Dis.
A lot of the names are native. Whitetaildeer. PierceArrow.
Then there are the Asians, the Hispanics. I have hired and fired a million Yangs and Lees and Pedros.
And not a one of them skilled. Unless stealing me blind and lying through their teeth are qualifications.
I hand the guard the the stack of the best of the worst I have sorted through and wait for him to call the hopeful perspectives into the dining hall. I look at the list of experiences on their applications. Some leave it bare. They are often the ones who get their celly to grudging fill out the form for them, when the applicants are unable to read it themselves. Payback for resume writting is food smuggled out of the kitchen. Job seekers have gone so far as written child care and taking out the garbage for job qualification.
Offenders rarely list the outside restaurants they have worked at, if they do have any real experience. Like I would call anyone one the street for a reference for inmate 1662438 anyway. Once and a while they will name a place I have eaten at. Sometimes I know the chefs they have worked under. I hate it when they have cooked at better places than I. It happens.
"I see you down you were a salads prep on the outside. What was the name of the place?"
If they were fired, which most of them were, they will be vague.
"It is closed".
"Really? I've been around awhile. Maybe I'll remember it."
"Aquvit."
"Who was the executive chef at the time you were there?"
"Ummm it's been so long."
I wait looking at the inmate fidget and just stare. And think of the cookbook on the top shelf of my cabinet at home. It is written by Marcus Samulson. The most famous black chef in the cities.
"Marcus", offender bouncy leg stammers. He stutters because he needs the twelve cents an hour he will receive for employment. He will be paid a quarter but the state will automatically take half for child support and victim retribution. His share of the check will go for laundry soap, toiletries, and much needed calling cards to keep in touch with loved ones on the outside. Some, if there is any left will go for canteen, for the something they crave to fill the voids. I am happy when they can buy their own food. They steal less from me.
Some don't need a job. They have family one the outside to send them money. Or women they play who will pay for long distance affection.
"Marcus Sam..." I give him.
"Marcus Samulson", he finishes proud of himself and feeling like he has made a connection with me. I do not want to connect with these guys. But they do work harder for me if they think there is a bond. Most of the time I do not care. Every one of them is replaceable.
"Ok", I answer not at all believing the guy in front of me ever worked in any kitchen before. Dude might have watched food net work back at his unit. Or he detailed Samulson's car. "I have a job for you scrubbing pots", I tell him. "We all gotta start somewhere." I do not tell him it doesn't matter if he can cook. If he can shut up and work hard without causing trouble he will make his way out of pots. It is cheaper to pay this social reject two bits an hour to scrub than it would cost me to buy Pam to make washing stainless easier.
Occasionally they will have worked in places nearby that my family has eaten and I think of the days when I could have turned into the one sitting on the other side of the table. My time working late nights and the adrenaline induced stress, the availability of drugs and drinks and the push to fit in, even at the treatment center where the stoners twisted their own in the parking lot on brake.
In they come and one by one I start my questions.
"Are you in school?"
"Treatment?"
"IFI?"
"When will you start and how long are you in for?" I never ask why. Sometimes if they are not a pedophile, they tell me anyway.
"I was just driving drunk and I'm in with murders and baby rapers. I wasn't even driving a car, I was on a four wheeler."
I do not blink I just go one to the next question.
"Are you a release violator?"
Then I ask about experience or skill. Most of their food service experience comes from other correctional facilities. Today the man I was interview listed every prison in the state. Plus outside restaurant experience.
"You ever work here?".
"Yes. 1998-2001 here. I was a table wipe and line server."
"You worked for Gerald."
"I don't remember."
"Don't matter." I have a job for you in dishroom."
"My son worked here for the past three years. I hadn't seen him in four years."
"Really", I ask what did he do? Sometimes they try to name drop to get a better job.
"Jermey cooked." Cooking is a respected job here.
I glance down at his application. His last name is Allen.
"I remember him. He just whent out to minimum." I fired his son for arguing with staff and hooking up his friends. He sat in IFI bawling for forgiveness afterwords. Even the pushover Chaplin saw though his act.
"Yeah. I got to talk with him before he left. Jermey is a good kid." Inmates think I do not know their crimes. I try not to know.
I remember the birthday cake that the bakery made for Jermey last year, before he was fired. It was a chocolate cake. I had to discipline the bakers for baking what was not on our menu. I remember because they did it on my kids birthday, the same as Jeremy. I was skiing with my son at the time.
I had to look up Jeremy's crime when food disappearing from the cooks area.
Jeremy Allen was given a life sentience for beating his own baby to death.
My new dish washer is proud of his son, his old brown eyes sparked when I remembered Jermey's name. He tipped an imaginary hat and addressed me as ma'am when he returned to his living unit. His walk was lighter leaving than entering.
I looked old Allen crime up after I added him to my roster.
He does have food service experience on the outside. He knocked over Subways.
I sit at the metal picnic table in chow hall with my stacks of paper work in front of me and shuffle through the applications. Times are tough and even jobs are hard to get behind bars. Some of the names I have to sort though are made up names, a throwback from the time when the state would pay for any legal document changes. Action Jackson. Federal Murder. Judge Dis.
A lot of the names are native. Whitetaildeer. PierceArrow.
Then there are the Asians, the Hispanics. I have hired and fired a million Yangs and Lees and Pedros.
And not a one of them skilled. Unless stealing me blind and lying through their teeth are qualifications.
I hand the guard the the stack of the best of the worst I have sorted through and wait for him to call the hopeful perspectives into the dining hall. I look at the list of experiences on their applications. Some leave it bare. They are often the ones who get their celly to grudging fill out the form for them, when the applicants are unable to read it themselves. Payback for resume writting is food smuggled out of the kitchen. Job seekers have gone so far as written child care and taking out the garbage for job qualification.
Offenders rarely list the outside restaurants they have worked at, if they do have any real experience. Like I would call anyone one the street for a reference for inmate 1662438 anyway. Once and a while they will name a place I have eaten at. Sometimes I know the chefs they have worked under. I hate it when they have cooked at better places than I. It happens.
"I see you down you were a salads prep on the outside. What was the name of the place?"
If they were fired, which most of them were, they will be vague.
"It is closed".
"Really? I've been around awhile. Maybe I'll remember it."
"Aquvit."
"Who was the executive chef at the time you were there?"
"Ummm it's been so long."
I wait looking at the inmate fidget and just stare. And think of the cookbook on the top shelf of my cabinet at home. It is written by Marcus Samulson. The most famous black chef in the cities.
"Marcus", offender bouncy leg stammers. He stutters because he needs the twelve cents an hour he will receive for employment. He will be paid a quarter but the state will automatically take half for child support and victim retribution. His share of the check will go for laundry soap, toiletries, and much needed calling cards to keep in touch with loved ones on the outside. Some, if there is any left will go for canteen, for the something they crave to fill the voids. I am happy when they can buy their own food. They steal less from me.
Some don't need a job. They have family one the outside to send them money. Or women they play who will pay for long distance affection.
"Marcus Sam..." I give him.
"Marcus Samulson", he finishes proud of himself and feeling like he has made a connection with me. I do not want to connect with these guys. But they do work harder for me if they think there is a bond. Most of the time I do not care. Every one of them is replaceable.
"Ok", I answer not at all believing the guy in front of me ever worked in any kitchen before. Dude might have watched food net work back at his unit. Or he detailed Samulson's car. "I have a job for you scrubbing pots", I tell him. "We all gotta start somewhere." I do not tell him it doesn't matter if he can cook. If he can shut up and work hard without causing trouble he will make his way out of pots. It is cheaper to pay this social reject two bits an hour to scrub than it would cost me to buy Pam to make washing stainless easier.
Occasionally they will have worked in places nearby that my family has eaten and I think of the days when I could have turned into the one sitting on the other side of the table. My time working late nights and the adrenaline induced stress, the availability of drugs and drinks and the push to fit in, even at the treatment center where the stoners twisted their own in the parking lot on brake.
In they come and one by one I start my questions.
"Are you in school?"
"Treatment?"
"IFI?"
"When will you start and how long are you in for?" I never ask why. Sometimes if they are not a pedophile, they tell me anyway.
"I was just driving drunk and I'm in with murders and baby rapers. I wasn't even driving a car, I was on a four wheeler."
I do not blink I just go one to the next question.
"Are you a release violator?"
Then I ask about experience or skill. Most of their food service experience comes from other correctional facilities. Today the man I was interview listed every prison in the state. Plus outside restaurant experience.
"You ever work here?".
"Yes. 1998-2001 here. I was a table wipe and line server."
"You worked for Gerald."
"I don't remember."
"Don't matter." I have a job for you in dishroom."
"My son worked here for the past three years. I hadn't seen him in four years."
"Really", I ask what did he do? Sometimes they try to name drop to get a better job.
"Jermey cooked." Cooking is a respected job here.
I glance down at his application. His last name is Allen.
"I remember him. He just whent out to minimum." I fired his son for arguing with staff and hooking up his friends. He sat in IFI bawling for forgiveness afterwords. Even the pushover Chaplin saw though his act.
"Yeah. I got to talk with him before he left. Jermey is a good kid." Inmates think I do not know their crimes. I try not to know.
I remember the birthday cake that the bakery made for Jermey last year, before he was fired. It was a chocolate cake. I had to discipline the bakers for baking what was not on our menu. I remember because they did it on my kids birthday, the same as Jeremy. I was skiing with my son at the time.
I had to look up Jeremy's crime when food disappearing from the cooks area.
Jeremy Allen was given a life sentience for beating his own baby to death.
My new dish washer is proud of his son, his old brown eyes sparked when I remembered Jermey's name. He tipped an imaginary hat and addressed me as ma'am when he returned to his living unit. His walk was lighter leaving than entering.
I looked old Allen crime up after I added him to my roster.
He does have food service experience on the outside. He knocked over Subways.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Showing Teeth
I woke up to the sound of her voice. She had brought someone home. I could tell by the heavy slur to her voice and the crashing in the other room she had been out drinking. But no matter how wasted Carrie was she never talked to herself. Instead of rolling over like I should have and going straight back to sleep, I strained my ears.
His voice was low and deep. It was not laced with the swears or vulgarities of the bar crowd we usually hung out with. It took me a long time to place it and still I wanted to doubted myself.
"No see lokk. Glaww. A hol er and er and er."
If I hadn't heard this routine before I wouldn't have known what my little girlfriend was trying to say.
"That is a lot of holes you have", came the mans voice in response.
"Wana see em", Carrie asked and over the man's soft protests I heard the sound of her footsteps coming down the hall past my bed room. I heard the sound of of her ninety pound body trip against my door, hitting the metal knob a foot from my pillow before she retrieved the pill vial from the medicine cabinet in our bathroom. I also heard the sound of the toilet flush repeatedly before she finally walked back to into the living room.
I sat up in bed to listen better to their muffled conversation, ready to jump up even before her "clumsy" cue was given. I cracked my door, standing barefooted on my grimy splinter filled work jeans and stood at the ready. When I couldn't take the silence any longer I jumped into the dark basement hall screaming...
"WHAT THE FUCKING HELL DO YOU ASSHOLES THINK YOU ARE DOING DAMN IT WAKING ME UP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING NIGHT? I GOTTA BE TO WORK IN TWO HOurs..."
I stopped when I reached the living room and seen Carrie sitting on the couch alone calmly smoking a menthol.
She smiled crookedly around her cigarette as she took a deep pull and held out her free arm to me. I sat along side my little friend on the worn sofa and slung my arm around her bony shoulders, breathing in her smell of whiskey and hair gel ready to listen to her nights escapades. We pulled the afghan she had knitted me for Valentines over our laps.
"So your sleepy ears didn't hear him run out of here I take it", Carrie said in a much less liquid voice and giggled. I reached for for her can of Diet Coke she held out and took a sip.
In two hours at five a.m. my alarm would ring and I would make the hour drive in my big old piece of shit Osmobile to the window factory as I dodged deer on the dark pre dawn icy roads. Carrie would be just about reaching r.e.m. in her grandma's feather bed in the next room. Some times, when the evening went bad for us, we would both curl together in that safe comfy bed for the rest of the night.
My best friend in that little northern town liked to drink. And she liked sex. Coming from a devote Catholic family all she ever wanted was a husband and a dozen kids. She just didn't know how to get them.
Somehow after she got her beauticians licence and started doing hair and men on main instead of getting her diploma and getting the hell out, the local boys found out her slide from being popular to being used was an easy game. In the time she was my roommate she had slept her way through every eligible bachelor. And the marginal ones that would do in a pinch. She was scrapping the bottom of the masculine barrel. Plus Carrie didn't own a car. Her money went to happy hour and pretty clothes.
I know sometimes she wasn't as drunk as she made out, she just wanted an excuse to feel warmth for a little while.
So on the nights that I had to get up early for my assembly line job, I left her at the local watering hole. It was always a crap shoot who would bring her home. Sometimes she was too drunk to walk the four blocks in dress heels the cold or just too lonely to spend it by herself.
And I know sometimes she probley wasn't in as much danger as she made it sound to me.
"Who you show your teeth too tonight?" I asked her.
Carrie wouldn't answer.
"Was that Mark Hull from Stan's?"
Mark Hull was the forty five year old looser who sold guns from the local hardware store.
Carrie would not look at me.
I sighed, my heart going out to her and hugged her tighter.
"Did you say thank you daddy when he bought your Windsor Cokes?" I asked trying to lighten the mood.
I would wake from the dead if it kept her from sleeping with such a man.
"Shut your face bitch", she said and hugged me back tight.
I ignored the tears trying to slip from the corner of her big eyes and pulled the chipped black coffee table closer with my feet so her short legs would reach. The vial of teeth lay open with the molars spilled out across it's scared surface. Showing her brothers rotten wisdom teeth sometimes put off the amorous degenerates she partied with before they expected payment in physical form if she could not shake them at the door. For back up she let them think she was puking her guts out. More and more often did I need bare my teeth and scare them out.
I loved my friend and would protect and enable her always.
And she would never threaten me with the straight edge razor from her salon she replaced me with once I grew up and moved on.
His voice was low and deep. It was not laced with the swears or vulgarities of the bar crowd we usually hung out with. It took me a long time to place it and still I wanted to doubted myself.
"No see lokk. Glaww. A hol er and er and er."
If I hadn't heard this routine before I wouldn't have known what my little girlfriend was trying to say.
"That is a lot of holes you have", came the mans voice in response.
"Wana see em", Carrie asked and over the man's soft protests I heard the sound of her footsteps coming down the hall past my bed room. I heard the sound of of her ninety pound body trip against my door, hitting the metal knob a foot from my pillow before she retrieved the pill vial from the medicine cabinet in our bathroom. I also heard the sound of the toilet flush repeatedly before she finally walked back to into the living room.
I sat up in bed to listen better to their muffled conversation, ready to jump up even before her "clumsy" cue was given. I cracked my door, standing barefooted on my grimy splinter filled work jeans and stood at the ready. When I couldn't take the silence any longer I jumped into the dark basement hall screaming...
"WHAT THE FUCKING HELL DO YOU ASSHOLES THINK YOU ARE DOING DAMN IT WAKING ME UP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING NIGHT? I GOTTA BE TO WORK IN TWO HOurs..."
I stopped when I reached the living room and seen Carrie sitting on the couch alone calmly smoking a menthol.
She smiled crookedly around her cigarette as she took a deep pull and held out her free arm to me. I sat along side my little friend on the worn sofa and slung my arm around her bony shoulders, breathing in her smell of whiskey and hair gel ready to listen to her nights escapades. We pulled the afghan she had knitted me for Valentines over our laps.
"So your sleepy ears didn't hear him run out of here I take it", Carrie said in a much less liquid voice and giggled. I reached for for her can of Diet Coke she held out and took a sip.
In two hours at five a.m. my alarm would ring and I would make the hour drive in my big old piece of shit Osmobile to the window factory as I dodged deer on the dark pre dawn icy roads. Carrie would be just about reaching r.e.m. in her grandma's feather bed in the next room. Some times, when the evening went bad for us, we would both curl together in that safe comfy bed for the rest of the night.
My best friend in that little northern town liked to drink. And she liked sex. Coming from a devote Catholic family all she ever wanted was a husband and a dozen kids. She just didn't know how to get them.
Somehow after she got her beauticians licence and started doing hair and men on main instead of getting her diploma and getting the hell out, the local boys found out her slide from being popular to being used was an easy game. In the time she was my roommate she had slept her way through every eligible bachelor. And the marginal ones that would do in a pinch. She was scrapping the bottom of the masculine barrel. Plus Carrie didn't own a car. Her money went to happy hour and pretty clothes.
I know sometimes she wasn't as drunk as she made out, she just wanted an excuse to feel warmth for a little while.
So on the nights that I had to get up early for my assembly line job, I left her at the local watering hole. It was always a crap shoot who would bring her home. Sometimes she was too drunk to walk the four blocks in dress heels the cold or just too lonely to spend it by herself.
And I know sometimes she probley wasn't in as much danger as she made it sound to me.
"Who you show your teeth too tonight?" I asked her.
Carrie wouldn't answer.
"Was that Mark Hull from Stan's?"
Mark Hull was the forty five year old looser who sold guns from the local hardware store.
Carrie would not look at me.
I sighed, my heart going out to her and hugged her tighter.
"Did you say thank you daddy when he bought your Windsor Cokes?" I asked trying to lighten the mood.
I would wake from the dead if it kept her from sleeping with such a man.
"Shut your face bitch", she said and hugged me back tight.
I ignored the tears trying to slip from the corner of her big eyes and pulled the chipped black coffee table closer with my feet so her short legs would reach. The vial of teeth lay open with the molars spilled out across it's scared surface. Showing her brothers rotten wisdom teeth sometimes put off the amorous degenerates she partied with before they expected payment in physical form if she could not shake them at the door. For back up she let them think she was puking her guts out. More and more often did I need bare my teeth and scare them out.
I loved my friend and would protect and enable her always.
And she would never threaten me with the straight edge razor from her salon she replaced me with once I grew up and moved on.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
My Face Will Be on Buses BABEE
Ten things I'm gonna do to get on "Idol".
10 Show up in my bikini. Make out with Paula with enthusiasm.
9 Bring my family. My family of one member from every ruthless gang in my prison.
8 Act confused when rejected and claim I thought I was trying out for Hells Kitchen.
7 Tell them Kurt Cobain sent me.
6 Yell, "WHO ARE YOU GONNA BELIEVE? ME OR YOUR LYING EARS BITCH."
5 Show off my ability to sing like a rock star and puke at the same time, saving myself a step.*
4 Collapse limp so they cannot haul my no talent ass away.
3 Punch out Seacrest for my golden ticket.
2 Bring my back up dancers. Train feral cats a few steps first.
1 Show judges handmade tabloid of me and the Rock's illicit affair.
I will not beg. I have my pride eh.
10 Show up in my bikini. Make out with Paula with enthusiasm.
9 Bring my family. My family of one member from every ruthless gang in my prison.
8 Act confused when rejected and claim I thought I was trying out for Hells Kitchen.
7 Tell them Kurt Cobain sent me.
6 Yell, "WHO ARE YOU GONNA BELIEVE? ME OR YOUR LYING EARS BITCH."
5 Show off my ability to sing like a rock star and puke at the same time, saving myself a step.*
4 Collapse limp so they cannot haul my no talent ass away.
3 Punch out Seacrest for my golden ticket.
2 Bring my back up dancers. Train feral cats a few steps first.
1 Show judges handmade tabloid of me and the Rock's illicit affair.
I will not beg. I have my pride eh.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
I'd Call it Rapids Myself
There is nothing peaceful about Stillwater. As a matter of fact, nothing ever good came of Stillwater.Old school bricks, and bars, and rifles. Only thing still about it is the people that spend a life time there.
And with today's budget cuts, I wonder if I want to step up to that plate.
And with today's budget cuts, I wonder if I want to step up to that plate.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Messages in the Sand
Dear Fire Dancer,
You need someone the rub fire retardant on your body before shows. I am that person.
I am very good at circles.
You need someone the rub fire retardant on your body before shows. I am that person.
I am very good at circles.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Messages in the Sand
Dear Fire Dancer,
I have my creme brulle torch at the ready and have been practicing tribal tattooing.
You remember me right? I was the only woman there smart enough to throw you my room keys. Sorry the pineapple I shoved them in hit you in the grunion. When you send for me I will bring salve.
I have my creme brulle torch at the ready and have been practicing tribal tattooing.
You remember me right? I was the only woman there smart enough to throw you my room keys. Sorry the pineapple I shoved them in hit you in the grunion. When you send for me I will bring salve.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Messages in the Sand
Dear Fire Dancer,
So I lit my Bic and waved it over my head during your performance like a 1987 concert goer. I wasn't trying to outshine your dazzle. I was showing appreciation. Write me back. Seriously.
So I lit my Bic and waved it over my head during your performance like a 1987 concert goer. I wasn't trying to outshine your dazzle. I was showing appreciation. Write me back. Seriously.
Messages in the Sand
Dear Fire Dancer,
You gotta admit you felt "our" sparks. I did. And it wasn't just the third degree sunburn I'm talkin. You still got my room keys er address. Get ahold of me.
You gotta admit you felt "our" sparks. I did. And it wasn't just the third degree sunburn I'm talkin. You still got my room keys er address. Get ahold of me.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Dried Grass is Trouble
At first you will just blame it on the jet lag, but eventually you will have to admit yourself have a situation in your basement. Your teenager often spent extended periods of time down there, but you will soon realise you haven't laid eyes on him now in weeks.
Then one afternoon on you day off, while chopping okra for the effete, you will think you just heard a soft giggle over the sound of your knife.
"Son?", you will call. "That you down there?" He will just dodge your question and ask what is for dinner. You will forget your query and yell, "Effete". "No, I'm not mom, why can't you just leave me alone!!", will come his agitated answer.
Shacking your head remembering how difficult it was when the boy had gone through adolescence, and praying he is not having some sort of hormonal relapsed, you ignore the out burst and decide to chop the jalapenos and onions next as it easier than arguing with family.
Later, he will not come up for dinner, claiming to dislike his once favorite spicy dish, asking for fresh fruit instead. This will become his habit.
You will soon began hearing pulsating drum music in your dreams.
Then one night you will wake, disturbed by your dreams of drums and swaying palms and leave your upper level bedroom for the glass of salt water you crave.
On the ground floor as you turn on the stairs in time to catch the swish of a skirt in your peripheral vision and distracted you will run smack into your startled basement dwelling son. You hardly recognize him. He is quite pale, skinny and his eyes dilated. Your baby resembles an dishevelled anorexic owl.
A normal mom would call rehab immediately.
You on the other hand march straight to the basement door and beller, "HULA GIRLS GET OUT OF MY BASEMENT!"
You turn the scantily clad girls out into the cold only after bulking them up on a nice potato and cheese laced hotdish and congratulate yourself on your parenting skills.
Your son on the other hand never speaks to you again.
Then one afternoon on you day off, while chopping okra for the effete, you will think you just heard a soft giggle over the sound of your knife.
"Son?", you will call. "That you down there?" He will just dodge your question and ask what is for dinner. You will forget your query and yell, "Effete". "No, I'm not mom, why can't you just leave me alone!!", will come his agitated answer.
Shacking your head remembering how difficult it was when the boy had gone through adolescence, and praying he is not having some sort of hormonal relapsed, you ignore the out burst and decide to chop the jalapenos and onions next as it easier than arguing with family.
Later, he will not come up for dinner, claiming to dislike his once favorite spicy dish, asking for fresh fruit instead. This will become his habit.
You will soon began hearing pulsating drum music in your dreams.
Then one night you will wake, disturbed by your dreams of drums and swaying palms and leave your upper level bedroom for the glass of salt water you crave.
On the ground floor as you turn on the stairs in time to catch the swish of a skirt in your peripheral vision and distracted you will run smack into your startled basement dwelling son. You hardly recognize him. He is quite pale, skinny and his eyes dilated. Your baby resembles an dishevelled anorexic owl.
A normal mom would call rehab immediately.
You on the other hand march straight to the basement door and beller, "HULA GIRLS GET OUT OF MY BASEMENT!"
You turn the scantily clad girls out into the cold only after bulking them up on a nice potato and cheese laced hotdish and congratulate yourself on your parenting skills.
Your son on the other hand never speaks to you again.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Little Bits of Island Heaven
I splashed behind the shark as he glided along the reef glad my goggles were optically corrective so I could see the danger I told my baby did not exist in the water.
*had no camera at the time so using this pic taken in the aquaratorium
Friday, December 26, 2008
Little Bits of Island Heaven
On Christmas day I fell in love at a luau with a fire dancer half my age and shot passion fruit shaved ice through my nose.
Gecko's are half as fast as they used to be, and sunsets twice as quick.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Little Bits of Island Heaven
Today I stopped combing my hair and fed my lunch to wharf cats.
They are better groomed and have more purpose in life than me.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Little Bits Of Island Heaven
Today I swam nakid in a blue lagoon and ate a 14.00 hamburger off the back of some dude's truck.
And I screamed off the top of a mountain.
* there is no internet access in the condo too down load pics and I can only post sporadically when soberish
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Little Bits of Island Heaven
I had Kahlua in my breakfast coffee and drank my lunch out of a pineapple.
I tried to cut across a church parking lot with a drink in my hand but God wouldn't let me.
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
Swimming With Anvils
I dread people.
I abhor their foibles.
I feel forced to labor under their misconceptions of me.
I count seconds while they're talking.
I am repelled by their notions.
Being popular or the life of the party would be a sentence unendurable.
There is no measure by which I can express my preference for a cats purr over the embrace of a stranger.
People frequently interrupt my happiest moments to observe that I'm sulking.
Animated hosts who take me by the arm to "do the rounds" make me feel like Frankenstein in a black dress.
Oh, and if I have to listen to one more story about your trip to Florida with an empty drink in my hand I'm going to eat five pounds of rum balls and inhale the center piece candle light.
I abhor their foibles.
I feel forced to labor under their misconceptions of me.
I count seconds while they're talking.
I am repelled by their notions.
Being popular or the life of the party would be a sentence unendurable.
There is no measure by which I can express my preference for a cats purr over the embrace of a stranger.
People frequently interrupt my happiest moments to observe that I'm sulking.
Animated hosts who take me by the arm to "do the rounds" make me feel like Frankenstein in a black dress.
Oh, and if I have to listen to one more story about your trip to Florida with an empty drink in my hand I'm going to eat five pounds of rum balls and inhale the center piece candle light.
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
MOVE ALONG NOTHING TO SEE HERE
I am on vacation and will not write again until sometime next year unless Maui boars me to words.
Have a wondrous holiday.
Have a wondrous holiday.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
So He Said
"Do you ever get tired of doing the same thing over and over he sad?"
"Yes", she answered, "that reminds me of...
Ten Lies I've Told My Kids
You gotta stick with it. Although I personally never kept the same job more than 2 years. Dealing antiques don't count cuz I spent more money collecting things than I ever made.
Wearing your mums warm sheepskin slippers if you are a boy will give you fibromyialga. And that's just painful.
Keith Richards and I are the same age. That's what drugs will do to you.
That secret tubular death punch that will drop you, the one I learned to protect myself with at academy, is just my version of a kick to the groin.
I did not read my sisters collage course books back in high school due to my love of reading and creative way to solve boredom. It was mostly her abnormal psychology book cause of the sex.
I have nothing after the number three. When I get really angry and count at them, I wouldn't know what to do if they made me mad past three. The world will not end, my head will not blow off, and they will not "get it". Don't tell them.
I hate watching any sport that I'm not in. I wish they would take up collecting stamps or gaming on line.
I want them to live in my basement and never move out.
I never got farther than basic math classes. I only passed basic math because of my cleavage and the fact my teacher liked to sit on my desk. For that matter, do not tell the state. The financial board should probably double check the oodles of bucks I manipulate.
I didn't stop inviting Elaine my old long time friend over cuz she lives so far away. She has a big mouth and talks about my naughty bad days. If she ever lets slip about my greenbush days, Ill just die.
"Yes", she answered, "that reminds me of...
Ten Lies I've Told My Kids
You gotta stick with it. Although I personally never kept the same job more than 2 years. Dealing antiques don't count cuz I spent more money collecting things than I ever made.
Wearing your mums warm sheepskin slippers if you are a boy will give you fibromyialga. And that's just painful.
Keith Richards and I are the same age. That's what drugs will do to you.
That secret tubular death punch that will drop you, the one I learned to protect myself with at academy, is just my version of a kick to the groin.
I did not read my sisters collage course books back in high school due to my love of reading and creative way to solve boredom. It was mostly her abnormal psychology book cause of the sex.
I have nothing after the number three. When I get really angry and count at them, I wouldn't know what to do if they made me mad past three. The world will not end, my head will not blow off, and they will not "get it". Don't tell them.
I hate watching any sport that I'm not in. I wish they would take up collecting stamps or gaming on line.
I want them to live in my basement and never move out.
I never got farther than basic math classes. I only passed basic math because of my cleavage and the fact my teacher liked to sit on my desk. For that matter, do not tell the state. The financial board should probably double check the oodles of bucks I manipulate.
I didn't stop inviting Elaine my old long time friend over cuz she lives so far away. She has a big mouth and talks about my naughty bad days. If she ever lets slip about my greenbush days, Ill just die.
So He said
"If that's how you are, I'm ok with it," he said, "I could have two moms, fat mom and skinny mom."
"Shut up, only if you call me skinny mom", she replied promising herself to look longer at Brad Pitt when she had too.
"Shut up, only if you call me skinny mom", she replied promising herself to look longer at Brad Pitt when she had too.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
So He Said
"Oh that was the alarm going off", he said when he eventually reached her "I thought it was the birds from where I was."
At least that is what the newly deafened girl waiting in the door guessed the grinning rookie the inmates rounded up said as he finally shut the system off and watch her drive away.
At least that is what the newly deafened girl waiting in the door guessed the grinning rookie the inmates rounded up said as he finally shut the system off and watch her drive away.
Friday, November 28, 2008
So He Said
"Everyone looks fat", he said stepping back to take the heftys in.
"It's the world be live in today" she answered peering at the screen that used to be her wall without the benefit of glasses.
"It's the world be live in today" she answered peering at the screen that used to be her wall without the benefit of glasses.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
So He Said
"Ma'am you got a minuet, I need to talk to you ", he said standing in line with the other men out side her door.
The girl knew he really had nothing to say but he needed a mother, a sister, a wife, or a daughter on Thanksgiving so on that day she would listen.
The girl knew he really had nothing to say but he needed a mother, a sister, a wife, or a daughter on Thanksgiving so on that day she would listen.
So He Said
"People have become fatally lost a hundred feet away from the tour group", he said sporting his best khaki, his voice echoing through the cave.
Before her panic set in, the crusty stalactite hanging off his upper lip had caused the girl to purposely lose sight of the guide forty five minutes and one rescue squad earlier.
Before her panic set in, the crusty stalactite hanging off his upper lip had caused the girl to purposely lose sight of the guide forty five minutes and one rescue squad earlier.
So He Said
"You don't sweat much for a fat girl", said the soft puffing tourist in front of his cronies.
So the girl with no self esteem pretended to laugh as she left the dance floor no longer glad someone had finally asked her to dance.
So the girl with no self esteem pretended to laugh as she left the dance floor no longer glad someone had finally asked her to dance.
So He Said
"I just love ham", he said slicing meat for pizza, " what animal does it come from?"
The school girl training the new tosser could not wait to start collage and stupefy.
The school girl training the new tosser could not wait to start collage and stupefy.
So He Said
"You are not a monster, I am the monster", he said.
And then the girl danced for the Boogie man and he was swayed.
And then the girl danced for the Boogie man and he was swayed.
So He Said
" I brought a couple boxes of wine, a bag of Alpo and something for the dogs", he said with jubilance.
The girl ditched her inhibitions and crawled into the yurt with December legs acting like July.
The girl ditched her inhibitions and crawled into the yurt with December legs acting like July.
So He Said
"How did you brake your collar bone", he said staring at her fragmented x-ray.
She did not want to tell him she fell off her chair at the dinning room table while eating dinner on New Years Eve so she answered,"Partying", in what she hoped a tuff voice- "I was told", while praying he would not question her cat.
She did not want to tell him she fell off her chair at the dinning room table while eating dinner on New Years Eve so she answered,"Partying", in what she hoped a tuff voice- "I was told", while praying he would not question her cat.
So He Said
"So you never raise your middle finger to anyone", he said to his little sister, "because it means....eagle."
When the four year old found out the real meaning, she flicked him off constantly for not telling her the whole truth.
When the four year old found out the real meaning, she flicked him off constantly for not telling her the whole truth.
So He Said
"Am I going to have to love it like it's my own?" he said to the girl frantically waving the strip of paper she had just peed on.
Expecting anything but that she did not know what to do with her face.
Expecting anything but that she did not know what to do with her face.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
So He Said
" I do not know what I would do with out you ", he said in an earnest voice directly in her ear.
But he never said " I love you" to her heart so she thought she would let him try.
But he never said " I love you" to her heart so she thought she would let him try.
So He Said
"Keep your hands off my plate and just eat your own food," he said through clenched teeth to the girl in the upscale restaurant when the CEO stepped away.
"I couldn't eat my lunch today ", she said as she handed her Styrofoam container to the pair of bums sharing a pack of frozen hot dogs on the out side bench she had watched trying to defrost their weenie's for the past hour.
"I couldn't eat my lunch today ", she said as she handed her Styrofoam container to the pair of bums sharing a pack of frozen hot dogs on the out side bench she had watched trying to defrost their weenie's for the past hour.
So He Said
"We'll have a great time in Vegas", he said as he stirred a circle of cream into the coffee she just served him and blew a smoke ring from the corner of his sensual mouth.
"No", she said as she stared at his large nimble fingers cupping the mug where his wedding band should have been.
"No", she said as she stared at his large nimble fingers cupping the mug where his wedding band should have been.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
So He Said
"Is there such a think as a good zombie?" he said in a flat voice his hands never leaving the controller and his eyes glued to the screen.
"Anything that eats your brain..." she tried to answer as she waited for the paint stripper to um ...
"Anything that eats your brain..." she tried to answer as she waited for the paint stripper to um ...
So He Said
"Just mail me my damn 'permit to purchase a hand gun' woman!", he said with a mouth full of anger.
"Send me my damn divorce papers and you will get your permit", she screeched in her inbread trailer voice.
"Send me my damn divorce papers and you will get your permit", she screeched in her inbread trailer voice.
So He Said
"If you buy a membership in the museum, you get ten percent off the picture you just purchased," he said, "that's alot."
"Not alot", said the number dyslexic girl who could not see the difference between the $120. charge she thought she made with $1,200. marriage breaker she just saddled herself with.
"Not alot", said the number dyslexic girl who could not see the difference between the $120. charge she thought she made with $1,200. marriage breaker she just saddled herself with.
So He Said
"Some words are really hard to spell..", he said as she nodded prematurely in agreement, "..out in feces when you are trying to make a statement.
So began her shit thesaurus composition.
So began her shit thesaurus composition.
So He Said
"I love the smell of garbage in the morning", he said as he pushed the heavy reeking janitor cart full of rotting leftovers and scraps out the loading dock to the dumpster, "it smells like...victory."
He told the girl he layed in his bunk mornings waiting for the 4 am switch out so he could come into work just to get out of his cell.
He told the girl he layed in his bunk mornings waiting for the 4 am switch out so he could come into work just to get out of his cell.
So He Said
"Using outsourced material will double our product production and turn costs around for the company", he said using his power point technology.
She swiveled 360 degrees in her office chair and laughed.
She swiveled 360 degrees in her office chair and laughed.
Monday, November 24, 2008
So He Said
"Taboo, we are soo TABOO!" he erupted gleefully a glean in his eye and his silk tie loosen, thrown back behind his damp neck.
"No, we are not tabbouleh until we stir in the turmeric", she told him not so excited.
"No, we are not tabbouleh until we stir in the turmeric", she told him not so excited.
So He Said
"A big girl like you with arms like that could play the trombone", he said after crushing her heart.
She tried to be a trombonist but the girl yearned to drum and they didn't need another so she quite and just took to trashing hotel rooms without a band.
She tried to be a trombonist but the girl yearned to drum and they didn't need another so she quite and just took to trashing hotel rooms without a band.
So He Said
"Mrs. Ravendalhen said you have to be my friend", he said to the shy girl on his first day of the second grade.
He repeated it in the third grade to get her to pass notes, then the fourth grade when he needed a science partner and the sixth grade when he wanted her to hang out at the snow carnival, and in the eighth grade when he got Debbie Newgate the sophomore knocked up and was too scared tell anyone but her, and by the time he had the shy girl climbing into his bedroom window to write plays instead of cleaning the Lutheran church across the street in the ninth grade or when in he got Debbie pregnant for the second time in their tenth grade year when she kept his baby or finally when the North Stars dropped him for using drugs, and a few times in between and after.
He repeated it in the third grade to get her to pass notes, then the fourth grade when he needed a science partner and the sixth grade when he wanted her to hang out at the snow carnival, and in the eighth grade when he got Debbie Newgate the sophomore knocked up and was too scared tell anyone but her, and by the time he had the shy girl climbing into his bedroom window to write plays instead of cleaning the Lutheran church across the street in the ninth grade or when in he got Debbie pregnant for the second time in their tenth grade year when she kept his baby or finally when the North Stars dropped him for using drugs, and a few times in between and after.
So He Said
"You will marry me if I get you pregnant", he said in a unmistakeably hopeful voice.
She vowed to her self to break up with the cowboy as soon as she finished.
She vowed to her self to break up with the cowboy as soon as she finished.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
So He Said
"All you got to do to look good is follow me around with your clip board and write down what I say so you remember to take care of the issues later", he said.
So she trailed behind him jotting down things like "self important fat ass waists time" and "my ex boss used to spend two hours in the bathroom and another playing fantasy food ball as I took over his job, the twit."
So she trailed behind him jotting down things like "self important fat ass waists time" and "my ex boss used to spend two hours in the bathroom and another playing fantasy food ball as I took over his job, the twit."
So He Said
"You sure this is what you want", he said in a scared voice.
Her hand on the flashlight shook despite the gin and she had never been less sure of anything but she had already pulled the wool hat over her ears to muffle the sound that would follow her nod.
Her hand on the flashlight shook despite the gin and she had never been less sure of anything but she had already pulled the wool hat over her ears to muffle the sound that would follow her nod.
So He Said
"Bla bla bla", he said in his monotonous voice, his blue eyes extra watery.
Does this man ever shut up, I've got more important things to think about like sleeping bags, duck eggs, and Windigo's to concentrate on-"OH HEY WHY IS EVERY ONE RUNNING OUT OF HERE IN THE MOST UNORDERLY FASHION?" she thought then yelled.
Does this man ever shut up, I've got more important things to think about like sleeping bags, duck eggs, and Windigo's to concentrate on-"OH HEY WHY IS EVERY ONE RUNNING OUT OF HERE IN THE MOST UNORDERLY FASHION?" she thought then yelled.
So He Said
"Do you ever take risks, dive too fast, experience severe mood swings, or have bursts of energy or creativity followed by depression?", he asked rapidly after calling the girl by the wrong name and never looking up from his massively large paper strewn desk directly at her.
She watched the dangerous brightly colored pills swirl around her toilet bowl and pictured herself rearranging all his desk papers to spell out her name correctly before setting it on fire.
She watched the dangerous brightly colored pills swirl around her toilet bowl and pictured herself rearranging all his desk papers to spell out her name correctly before setting it on fire.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
So He Said
"You see anything?", he said to the frozen girl as she entered the cabin.
She pictured the large wild canine tracks on the snow covered pond she passed in the daylight on her return and answered, "Let's just keep the little one tending the fire for the rest of the trip."
She pictured the large wild canine tracks on the snow covered pond she passed in the daylight on her return and answered, "Let's just keep the little one tending the fire for the rest of the trip."
Friday, November 21, 2008
So He Said
"So my real father is actually a top secret asternaught away all these years working on an exploration study three galaxies from here?" he said with great big eyes widened in question just like his missing dad.
"Four", she said.
"Four", she said.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
So He Said
"Ooh sexy boots, you from around here?", he said as he gazed intensely into her eyes and guiding her genitally down into the buttery soft upholstery.
"Shut up and just do me again", she snapped impatiently brushing the bleach blond bangs from her eyes while making a mental note to switch hair salons.
"Shut up and just do me again", she snapped impatiently brushing the bleach blond bangs from her eyes while making a mental note to switch hair salons.
So He Said
"Is the man of the house there, this is Bob from the NRA, and I understand your husband has donated to us recently..", the telemarketer repeatedly ask her every night about dinner time.
"No", she answered in a tearful sounding voice, "my husband died from a gunshot wound to the head."
"No", she answered in a tearful sounding voice, "my husband died from a gunshot wound to the head."
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
So He Said
"I said, "Can you FIT"", he repeated with a look of pure annoyance and frustration on his young face.
She wiped her saliva out of his toy box and promised herself to start taking the time to listen with both ears.
She wiped her saliva out of his toy box and promised herself to start taking the time to listen with both ears.
So He Said
"I never eat protein and carbs together at the same time, it screws up your metabolism", said the pompass chubby antique dealer as he helped himself to another of the pulled pork sandwich the girl had brought in for the workers.
"Ok, I'll remember that if I ever wake up fat", she replied flicking her paint brush at his back as he waddled past.
"Ok, I'll remember that if I ever wake up fat", she replied flicking her paint brush at his back as he waddled past.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
So He Said
"In ah uh cupill minets you won'tt feel a thinngah, sweetie", said the good Dr with a slur.
She gripped the arms of the dentist chair and watched with her peripheral vision the Novocain as it shot through her cheek missing her gum altogether hitting the cheery printed wallpaper and knew she should have just applied a hammer directly to her mouth before arriving.
She gripped the arms of the dentist chair and watched with her peripheral vision the Novocain as it shot through her cheek missing her gum altogether hitting the cheery printed wallpaper and knew she should have just applied a hammer directly to her mouth before arriving.
Monday, November 17, 2008
So He Said
" I never even told any of my girlfriends that I loved them", said the idiot sitting across the restaurant table she had chose for this meaningful day.
She sat staring dumbfounded as he continued to squirm and babble and she wished he would have let her finish her planned breakup sentience.
She sat staring dumbfounded as he continued to squirm and babble and she wished he would have let her finish her planned breakup sentience.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
So He Said
"Hungry Like a Wolf is a real song and not just an Old Spice commercial?", said the kid not believing coolness was as old as his mum.
She showed him the YouTube video, but told him nothing of the small import vehicle or the country she was in for that matter the first time she heard it.
She showed him the YouTube video, but told him nothing of the small import vehicle or the country she was in for that matter the first time she heard it.
So He Said
"I need to make my appointment for another melanoma peel this month", said the Sargent as he finished off the entire bag of her peanut brittle with a satisfied sigh.
The girl wanted to tell him cancer thrives on sugar, how he should be eating apricot pits instead, but she enjoyed his enjoyment too much and wasn't as good at cracking fruit centers with a hammer as she was at baking.
The girl wanted to tell him cancer thrives on sugar, how he should be eating apricot pits instead, but she enjoyed his enjoyment too much and wasn't as good at cracking fruit centers with a hammer as she was at baking.
Deep Pockets Full Heart
Cost of cell phone upgrade for tweenager who has lost/broken phone. $159.00
Cost of comfortable workboot for when tweenager goes back to work. 76.00 (more than any pay check earned so far.)
Cost of sushi for late dinner after long evening shopping. 47.00
Sound of little boy's voice rising about the crowd at check out lane. "Mom? Mom! I've been abandaned. I don't remember where we parked?"
Price less.
Cost of comfortable workboot for when tweenager goes back to work. 76.00 (more than any pay check earned so far.)
Cost of sushi for late dinner after long evening shopping. 47.00
Sound of little boy's voice rising about the crowd at check out lane. "Mom? Mom! I've been abandaned. I don't remember where we parked?"
Price less.
Saturday, November 08, 2008
Heart Break Food
Recently, while I was hanging outside waiting for a sign with alot of time on my hands I thought about wienies. I do not often think about tubular meat but I had a couple great ones in the middle of the night in Europe during my pre-asternaught days. They are alot of work but worth it, as they will fix anything that ails you. And you can not eat them in space.
Here is how you build them.
REMOULADE
2 c. mayonnaise
1 tbsp. prepared mustard
1 tsp. anchovy paste
1 tbsp. each chopped capers & gherkins
1 Tbs fine chopped onion
2 chopped hard cooked eggs
Salt & white pepper to taste
SHRIMP SALAD
1 can medium sized salad shrimp drained
1/4 cup ketchup
1 rounded teaspoon grated horseradish
Steam or grill an old fashioned foot long hot dog
Grill a piece mixed grain flat bread until warm
Spread a layer of mashed potatoes on warm bread
Lay hot dog on mashed potato cover flat bread vertically
Spoon a line of romaulade sauce along one side of dog
Spoon line of shrimp salad on other side of dog
Roll up in a cone like shape
Top with carmilized onions
Eat with a spork. Buy bigger pants.
*not my picture as I do not pour ketchup on top as you can see
Thursday, November 06, 2008
Dear Asternaught Letter
Dear Asternaught,
You can just kiss off now. You are way too cold for me, ice Asternaught. Hope you get the bends upon re-entry if you ever decide to show your oxyigen sucking face on this planet again. Heard the scientists had to weld your helmet on your ugly mug so the black hole they were shooting you towards wouldn't spit you back out. Know what else? Down here your fat. Too bad you are all alone up there, with no gravity to hold your "little shuttle" down for a change. I was just only slumming with you. I really wanted an alien. And I want my solar sytem mobile back, space pig.
You can just kiss off now. You are way too cold for me, ice Asternaught. Hope you get the bends upon re-entry if you ever decide to show your oxyigen sucking face on this planet again. Heard the scientists had to weld your helmet on your ugly mug so the black hole they were shooting you towards wouldn't spit you back out. Know what else? Down here your fat. Too bad you are all alone up there, with no gravity to hold your "little shuttle" down for a change. I was just only slumming with you. I really wanted an alien. And I want my solar sytem mobile back, space pig.
Postcards to My Asternaugt
I baked a cake for your coming home party. It is shaped like a rocket and made of butter cream. I'll just continue practicing popping out of it with my big net until you get back. Act surprised.
Post Cards to my Asternaught
So. I suppose you are way to busy at your control panel with your levers and monitors to look out your window. You really should take a peek. See that deer stand with the heart painted on the roof? I built it higher than legal just to be closer to you.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Post Cards to my Asternaught
I tried to you spell you out a love message in a crop pattern. But the growing season here is over. So I used chickens. From my roof they look like the Asian word for goiter hag.
Post Cards to my Asternaught
Do me a favor while your up there? Mess with the planetary alignment's a little. Arrange Aquarius to look like.. oh maybe big a pair of lips. Instead of a silly water bearer. Then maybe you will find me sexy instead of drippy.
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
Monday, November 03, 2008
Post Cards to My Asternaught
All those nights we spend together on my Tempur-Pedic, does it qualify as asternaught training? If so, I'm going to pack every left over Forth of July fire work I can get my hands on under the dust ruffle and meet you around Pluto.
Post Cards to My Asternaught
By the way you never left me your temporary address. I know you asternaughts are shy, and like to be left alone so I am just sending these cards to Santa in hopes he forwards them. I'll just sit here under the mail box with my binoculars and wait.
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Postcards to My Asternaught
Do you think of me in hyper space? Or do your weightless memories float away, higher.
Tape a snap shot of me inside your helmet, will ya. Make it sad.
Tape a snap shot of me inside your helmet, will ya. Make it sad.
Post Cards to My Asternaught
Can you pick me up a few things on your way back? I want:
Moon Shadow
Cheese
Stardust
Mini Black Hole
A silver cloud lining
Any unanswered wishes I can grant
Alice
One pocket alien who doesn't eat too much
Another pocket alien to keep first happy
You.
Moon Shadow
Cheese
Stardust
Mini Black Hole
A silver cloud lining
Any unanswered wishes I can grant
Alice
One pocket alien who doesn't eat too much
Another pocket alien to keep first happy
You.
Saturday, November 01, 2008
Post Cards to My Asternaught
Is it all it cracked up to be up there in space? Peeing in your flight suit, is that hard to do? Was there a simulated astro elimination class at NASA? I have to focus on these things while your gone. Me not being able to wrap my (helmet less) head around rocket science and all. Beats the thought of you breaking down.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Scared Spitless
I am scared of two things:
Snakes and midgets.
Both are low too the ground and creepy. On the one hand I can run away from a snake or just hit them with a stick, or even make a belt out of them but I can't so much with midgets. Although I did push a grocery cart into one of the little devils once, and I did throw up on one another time. I will tell you of it in the future when my stomach calms down from mentioning their concentrated evil.
Snakes and midgets.
Both are low too the ground and creepy. On the one hand I can run away from a snake or just hit them with a stick, or even make a belt out of them but I can't so much with midgets. Although I did push a grocery cart into one of the little devils once, and I did throw up on one another time. I will tell you of it in the future when my stomach calms down from mentioning their concentrated evil.
Postcards to My Asternaught
I will write you soon and tell you the details of all that is happening here. Stuff about the war in Georgia, and the strike in Pakistan. More about the Syrian troops invading Lebanon, what Kelly and Regis dress up this Halloween as, and who spent enough to spin the press and win the election.
Write back soon, ok, and let me know the really important things like is the part in my hair straight and does Tang taste better in space.
Write back soon, ok, and let me know the really important things like is the part in my hair straight and does Tang taste better in space.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Skinning the Cat
Her body tensed before the huge lion pounced on her in the night. She felt the huge cat's breath hot on her face as his sharp vice like teeth punchered her skull. The girl fought the beast with everything she had. With an upwards thrust she mistakenly claimed a short lived victory and she began to skin the wild animal. With her knife under the cat's top lip she saw it's warning snarl too late, and when she woke his incisors were still embedded in her head.
She fumbled for the migraine pills in the dark bathroom with her eyes closed wishing she really was in a jungle anywhere but there.
She fumbled for the migraine pills in the dark bathroom with her eyes closed wishing she really was in a jungle anywhere but there.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Road Blocks
Top 10 diversions that keep me from blogging:
10-Surrogate mothering alien baby embryo's.
9- Filling in as body double for Jullianne Hough On "Dancing with the Stars."
8-Spray painting dirty remarks about self and phone number over every campain sign in neighborhood.
7-Waiting hopefully by phone
6-Carrying "Survivor Man's" cameras across the Amazon. ("Les. Les! Wait Les! Play your harmonica for me and I'll give you a Snickers bar! Stop running!)
5- Bulking up for winter on the chocolate cheese cake flavored donut diet.
4-Calling hubby's new job. Tell his hot assistant I am an undefeated extreme fighter with anger issues. Ask her over for dinner. Or throat punching.
3- Write own honest quarterly job evaluation for boss. Show boss and have him sign. Fax the fake glowing review into office instead. Spend undeserved raise at strip club at lunch break.
2-Shop for a lake side cabin on Craigs List. Trade both kids for cozy fixer upper with semi-detached meth lab a short distance from swamp.
1-Shaving head. Gluing fresh cat to scalp daily.
10-Surrogate mothering alien baby embryo's.
9- Filling in as body double for Jullianne Hough On "Dancing with the Stars."
8-Spray painting dirty remarks about self and phone number over every campain sign in neighborhood.
7-Waiting hopefully by phone
6-Carrying "Survivor Man's" cameras across the Amazon. ("Les. Les! Wait Les! Play your harmonica for me and I'll give you a Snickers bar! Stop running!)
5- Bulking up for winter on the chocolate cheese cake flavored donut diet.
4-Calling hubby's new job. Tell his hot assistant I am an undefeated extreme fighter with anger issues. Ask her over for dinner. Or throat punching.
3- Write own honest quarterly job evaluation for boss. Show boss and have him sign. Fax the fake glowing review into office instead. Spend undeserved raise at strip club at lunch break.
2-Shop for a lake side cabin on Craigs List. Trade both kids for cozy fixer upper with semi-detached meth lab a short distance from swamp.
1-Shaving head. Gluing fresh cat to scalp daily.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Baby On Baby
People. Babies are killing babies out there. This must stop. I, as a mother will make sure this will happen.
How you ask? How will one woman do this?
This is how. Listen up.
I as a woman will not let a violent flu bring me down, allowing my baby to be stolen by his father into the northern woods without me. Taken to the deep dark woods like savages to stalk deer. Unsuccessfully. Only to be dropped off at home, heart broken without any game.
My baby waved good bye to his departing father, and took up his gun once again. With a vengeance, he pointed his rifle in the direction opposite his fleeing dad.
"BOOM"
The shot knocked me off the sick bed.
I had to help dispose of the babies body. Heavy, heavy body. ("Mom, don't cut the heart mom. Is that the lungs or the liver. Good thing you don't have anything in your stomach 'cuse of your flu ' cuse that is BLARGHHH.")
I lay awake all night wondering how I would turn the body over to the authorities the next day.
In the darkness we hung the body. In the darkness the next day we cut it down.
A rigamortss stiffened body will not fit in the back of a Jeep.
Mothers. do not let your babies put you through this.
Hunt with your children. Coach them to wait for horns. Teach yourself how to use a pulley. Have readily available muscle mass. And a truck.
*Father did not truly abanden us. Just drove off to work out of town. (YEAH! Out of town!)
Sunday, October 05, 2008
Middleage Adolescence
One the rainy afternoon she thought of him. She often thinks of him. Too often. Then she typed his familiar name into her search engine. He came up in New York. He was always the city boy, even when the city was a town of two hundred.
She held her breath and dialed his number, not know what she would say, her heart pounding in her thought.
He answered on the second ring. "Hullo?"
He wasn't ever home on a Sunday afternoon. Never. He was out racing fast bikes, knocking up cheerleaders, out running the cops.
She expected his answering machine to tell her this.
So she gasp and hung up the phone like a giddy adolescent.
And worried after all these years he would know it was her. It was always her.
She knows she should write her story. But that part of him belongs to her. And she noes not want to share.
She held her breath and dialed his number, not know what she would say, her heart pounding in her thought.
He answered on the second ring. "Hullo?"
He wasn't ever home on a Sunday afternoon. Never. He was out racing fast bikes, knocking up cheerleaders, out running the cops.
She expected his answering machine to tell her this.
So she gasp and hung up the phone like a giddy adolescent.
And worried after all these years he would know it was her. It was always her.
She knows she should write her story. But that part of him belongs to her. And she noes not want to share.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Instutional Clasifieds
POET FOR HIRE:
here is a sample of my work
monster
they say i am a monster
they say i am no good
they say one day the monster
in me will return
i say grrrr
one poem five spot or a back rub
jingles K4 second floor third door
here is a sample of my work
monster
they say i am a monster
they say i am no good
they say one day the monster
in me will return
i say grrrr
one poem five spot or a back rub
jingles K4 second floor third door
Monday, September 22, 2008
Institutional Classifieds
For Barter:
Surplus ammo (any size) for home cooked dinner. Call between 2pm and 7pm so as not to wake mother.
CO Barril Kitchen
Surplus ammo (any size) for home cooked dinner. Call between 2pm and 7pm so as not to wake mother.
CO Barril Kitchen
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Institutional Classifieds
WANTED:
Date. And not the Ramadan kind. I have my prom gown and am ready to go. You bring the raisin jack and memories will be made.
Chris S.O. unit cell 917
P.S. If you tell the seg unit I still have the suicide watch style, I'll cut ya.
Date. And not the Ramadan kind. I have my prom gown and am ready to go. You bring the raisin jack and memories will be made.
Chris S.O. unit cell 917
P.S. If you tell the seg unit I still have the suicide watch style, I'll cut ya.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Instutional Classifieds
FOR SALE:
Ramadon Dates. Bi mi dam dates nigga. Days be putn m in mi Ramadon bag nasty and senting to my cell a nigh. Use them as a stone, tey pitted.
Azizah da Bizzah K3 South lower level cell 428
Ramadon Dates. Bi mi dam dates nigga. Days be putn m in mi Ramadon bag nasty and senting to my cell a nigh. Use them as a stone, tey pitted.
Azizah da Bizzah K3 South lower level cell 428
Insitutional Classifieds
FOR SALE:
Junk Cheese. Smuggled straight out of kitchen in between two pairs of under ware for your dining pleasure. Buying 4 slices qualifies you to 10 minutes uninterrupted time with the unit iron for your grilling needs.
DogBone K4 West Cell 806
*cheese does not contain real dairy. ingredients include, oil, glow in the dark orange food dye, and funk
Junk Cheese. Smuggled straight out of kitchen in between two pairs of under ware for your dining pleasure. Buying 4 slices qualifies you to 10 minutes uninterrupted time with the unit iron for your grilling needs.
DogBone K4 West Cell 806
*cheese does not contain real dairy. ingredients include, oil, glow in the dark orange food dye, and funk
Monday, September 15, 2008
10 Every Day
Ten Things I do Every Day:
1 Curse loudly at alarm.
2 Offer a sacrifice to my "Rock" altar.
3 Run two laps before my coffee (around my counter island).
4 Circle the parking lot until I find my bosses car. Park at diagonal to block slacker in.
5 Slap out of order sign on coffee vending machine. Sell home brew for 2 bucks a pop.
6 Phone home. Request whatever is not in fridge for dinner.
7 Moisturize hands with lotion. Rub greasy paws on Captains window in an pressed ham shape.
8 Bring home picture of inmate. Tell kids inmate is new dad.
9 Complain about smaller size ice cream containers. Eat twice as much.
10 Hold deep meaningful conversations with feral cays while distributing kibble. Answer self in Sylvester voice.
11 Bongo a chorus of "Tusk" on hubby's belly.
12 Practice counting.
1 Curse loudly at alarm.
2 Offer a sacrifice to my "Rock" altar.
3 Run two laps before my coffee (around my counter island).
4 Circle the parking lot until I find my bosses car. Park at diagonal to block slacker in.
5 Slap out of order sign on coffee vending machine. Sell home brew for 2 bucks a pop.
6 Phone home. Request whatever is not in fridge for dinner.
7 Moisturize hands with lotion. Rub greasy paws on Captains window in an pressed ham shape.
8 Bring home picture of inmate. Tell kids inmate is new dad.
9 Complain about smaller size ice cream containers. Eat twice as much.
10 Hold deep meaningful conversations with feral cays while distributing kibble. Answer self in Sylvester voice.
11 Bongo a chorus of "Tusk" on hubby's belly.
12 Practice counting.
Friday, September 12, 2008
464-7788- Get it Right
“Conscience, my old chum, my bosom buddy, my pal, my confidant, my … so how the devil are you? And more to the point, where in the name of all that’s holy have you been, eh? Eh? Eh? I have been doing some frankly sickeningly depraved and despicable things, many of which would make your eyes water, and have I heard from you? Well, have I? Not a word, or a peep for that matter. You never write, you never call, you never email. I even tried looking you up on Facebook. But nothing. It's like you fell off the face of my earth. So I sat here - sat, lay, suspended myself upside down, and many other positions besides - indulging in pleasures of the flesh whilst ingesting a cornucopia of toxins no one in the moral majority would approve. The kind of behaviour that would not only make my poor mothers hair curl, but would undoubtedly cause it to fall out, and yet you remained silent. Unusually mute, by your standards. No murmured whispers of sanity, reason and righteousness to set me back on the straight and narrow - don’t interrupt, I said - so it’s hardly surprising that I now find myself infected with all manner of … Michele? There's no Michele here. My name is Munkay and you must have the wrong number."
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Who Ya Gonna Run Tell On Now?
Pig said she needed "spanking"
Insubordinate jerk hung self
firing process has begun
Insubordinate jerk hung self
firing process has begun
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
A Slip of the Lip
Back-pain is fine.
Everybody gets back-pain. Athletes get back-pain. Joggers.
Back-pain doesn’t label you, it’s just a fact of life.
Hip pain is a whole different kettle of pinchy craw fish though. Hip pain is a real milestone in the decrepitude stakes. That’s one you won’t quickly admit to colleagues or friends.
I have a pain in my hip.
No. Sorry. Can’t see that happening. I’d rather say I have leperacy or warts.
Hip pain. If I told my children I had a sore hip, that would be the start of a very rapid decline for me. Even their language would change, subtly. You see, up to now, if I happen to trip over something while dragging great pieces of furnature around the house or pushing the Harley out of the barn, or wrasseling a crocodile, one of my kids might just mention it to the other:
Mom biffed.
Did she? Is she all right?
Yeah. She just fell over something.
But if they knew I had a stiff hip, they wouldn’t say that. Instead it would be Mom had a fall.
Oh.
And they’d frown at each other. A fall, eh?
Yeah. She had a fall.
It won’t end there. As time progresses, the language will turn even darker and the frowns will become furrows.
Mom had one of her falls.
Really? One of her falls? Maybe we should consider …
Nah. She’ll be fine.
Even that won’t be the worst. After a couple more years will come the absolute pits:
Mom had another fall last night.
Another one! Shit, we’ll have to …
Yeah. I think we will …
I’m keeping quiet about this hip. It’s probably just a strain.
Everybody gets back-pain. Athletes get back-pain. Joggers.
Back-pain doesn’t label you, it’s just a fact of life.
Hip pain is a whole different kettle of pinchy craw fish though. Hip pain is a real milestone in the decrepitude stakes. That’s one you won’t quickly admit to colleagues or friends.
I have a pain in my hip.
No. Sorry. Can’t see that happening. I’d rather say I have leperacy or warts.
Hip pain. If I told my children I had a sore hip, that would be the start of a very rapid decline for me. Even their language would change, subtly. You see, up to now, if I happen to trip over something while dragging great pieces of furnature around the house or pushing the Harley out of the barn, or wrasseling a crocodile, one of my kids might just mention it to the other:
Mom biffed.
Did she? Is she all right?
Yeah. She just fell over something.
But if they knew I had a stiff hip, they wouldn’t say that. Instead it would be Mom had a fall.
Oh.
And they’d frown at each other. A fall, eh?
Yeah. She had a fall.
It won’t end there. As time progresses, the language will turn even darker and the frowns will become furrows.
Mom had one of her falls.
Really? One of her falls? Maybe we should consider …
Nah. She’ll be fine.
Even that won’t be the worst. After a couple more years will come the absolute pits:
Mom had another fall last night.
Another one! Shit, we’ll have to …
Yeah. I think we will …
I’m keeping quiet about this hip. It’s probably just a strain.
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