There was an invisible little girl
who cried a crystal clear tear
right in the middle
where her cheek should be
and it evaporated into thin air
so she let out a sob
and cursed herself hard
fustrated because she was voiceless.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Monday, February 20, 2006
Cats and Dogs Living Together
Holy crap. Pigs and monkeys. http://wcco.com/topstories/local_story_050172415.html
This was on the local news just days after I found out the person right before me who had the same procedure, islet cell transplant by injection, instead of sugicaly, died on the operating table. Eight people before me had a transplant, not all were successfull, and none buy the less invasive way I had mine.
I also discovered I am a poster child for the U of M. http://www.diabetesinstitute.org/diabinst/treatmentsdiabetes/islet/stories/lalli.html Please read the home page on that site.
When I had my procedure, my doctor, Dr. Herring told me he was already working on a more advanced cure. I was his baby steps.
I am happy for modern technology. But this type of news upsets me. I don't know what to do with my face.
This was on the local news just days after I found out the person right before me who had the same procedure, islet cell transplant by injection, instead of sugicaly, died on the operating table. Eight people before me had a transplant, not all were successfull, and none buy the less invasive way I had mine.
I also discovered I am a poster child for the U of M. http://www.diabetesinstitute.org/diabinst/treatmentsdiabetes/islet/stories/lalli.html Please read the home page on that site.
When I had my procedure, my doctor, Dr. Herring told me he was already working on a more advanced cure. I was his baby steps.
I am happy for modern technology. But this type of news upsets me. I don't know what to do with my face.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
The Greasemonkeys Daughter
We never did have a new car when I was growing up. Dad was a mechanical engineer, of sorts. My father did not hold a degree. He had barley made it through the eighth grade of a one room Finnish/American school house. Wilmar would come up with bits and pieces off other machinery and design a completely new mechanism. His biggest invention he made most often though, was do.
The automobiles we drove were often made up of miscellaneous parts of cars he would scavenge. Dad was a genius when it came to putting together scraps of machinery and turn them into running machinery. He built tractors, harvesting equipment, and once a prosthesis leg for his war veteran friend. The cars we drove were always a work in the making, and often needed a little help. Mufflers, that if you drove for too long and too fast, would fall off, or stick shifts that would take two hands to maneuver, for instance.
That might be why, when my last jeep was laid to rest, I bulked at the notion of setting foot into a car dealership. In my mind, there was no unfixable automobile. So what if the back end of my wagon was gone, there was another half of an unscathed junker that could be married to my beloved blue jeep. I just couldn't find the man willing to take the time and do it.
On the other hand, in this modern day disposable world there are a trunk load of those willing and eager to sell me a new one. "I don't want a new car", I repeatedly told my husband, who was on his mission of loving provider. "I know how to start a truck with a pick-axe. I can make do with a used model."
Hubby didn't like the idea of me stranded because of car problems , late at night, on the side of the road while he was out of town. I told him I could also protect myself with same pick axe.
For valentines day Hubby bought me a nice shiny new red jeep. It will do. I wonder how he will use the pick axe I bought him. And if in some wreck yard, somewhere, the pieces of my old jeep will make someone else happy.
The automobiles we drove were often made up of miscellaneous parts of cars he would scavenge. Dad was a genius when it came to putting together scraps of machinery and turn them into running machinery. He built tractors, harvesting equipment, and once a prosthesis leg for his war veteran friend. The cars we drove were always a work in the making, and often needed a little help. Mufflers, that if you drove for too long and too fast, would fall off, or stick shifts that would take two hands to maneuver, for instance.
That might be why, when my last jeep was laid to rest, I bulked at the notion of setting foot into a car dealership. In my mind, there was no unfixable automobile. So what if the back end of my wagon was gone, there was another half of an unscathed junker that could be married to my beloved blue jeep. I just couldn't find the man willing to take the time and do it.
On the other hand, in this modern day disposable world there are a trunk load of those willing and eager to sell me a new one. "I don't want a new car", I repeatedly told my husband, who was on his mission of loving provider. "I know how to start a truck with a pick-axe. I can make do with a used model."
Hubby didn't like the idea of me stranded because of car problems , late at night, on the side of the road while he was out of town. I told him I could also protect myself with same pick axe.
For valentines day Hubby bought me a nice shiny new red jeep. It will do. I wonder how he will use the pick axe I bought him. And if in some wreck yard, somewhere, the pieces of my old jeep will make someone else happy.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
No Centerfold Here
I did not like it when he took pictures of me. I do not know if it is because the quality of the images, or the timing of the snap shots, but I would cringe when he would procure his Kodak. In all his shots I am turning away, avoiding the lens. When he asked to include the camera in our intimate time, I was surprised. I thought I knew him better than that, or at least he knew me. But when later I discovered his stash of our erotica, I smiled out loud. Every shot was of only my face.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Love Potion # 6,726,587,239
If I were to formulate for you your specific love potion, what would it smells would it consist of? A wafting of pumpkin pie, a hint of cedar and a pinch of Axe body spray? Warm puppy fur, popcorn and a whiff of the beach? A drop of sweat, a sprinkle of cinnamon and a puff of smoke? Money? Does the smell of baby make you warm or just impatient? New car aroma give you tingles or nausea? And what do I package your essence of emotional devotion in? Would you like it in a crystal decanter, empty gin bottle, or would a WD 40 can do? A jeweled box or a zip lock baggy?Let me know soon eh? My personal concoction of fresh paint, curry, leather, fish and hospital antiseptic in a chocolate shell will probably not be requested for duplication this valentines season.
Friday, February 10, 2006
The Mice in My Brain
I'm sorry I haven't written you much lately, but I have been thinking of a lot of things....
Of the fireworks exploding in the dark sky, as we watched through the picture window of the ice shack.
The spoon of justice.
Groupings, clusters, or rows?
South Dakota.
Of the naughty little pair of leather leaderhosen I'll be sporting while serving shinitzle and spagle on Valentines night.
Pearl asking who hit her as I walked her back to the patrol car.
Teaching K2 how to yodel on the ski lift when I surprised him on his birthday and took him skiing instead of school.
Of the invasion of goateed men at work.
Warm ginger snaps.
Of the beauty at http://www.augustlalliflowers.com/
My hatred of car dealerships and salesmen.
My chiropractor with the shoe fetish.
The Citadel pussy.
The song automated Boy by The Dresden Dolls.
Art dot cards.
Men in recliners.
Drive by lawn trollings.
Hopefully lunching in Anoka.
K2 walking out of class the day after he witnessed me walk out of the new jeep transaction.
The class I'll be teaching with Sweatin John.
Why all black pants make my skin itch. Am I allergic to black?
The upcoming strange shenanigans at http://notjustadogandmonkeyshow.blogspot.com/ And can someone please tell him how to post a picture on his profile?
I promise I will try to write and keep you up more often. But you never know.
Of the fireworks exploding in the dark sky, as we watched through the picture window of the ice shack.
The spoon of justice.
Groupings, clusters, or rows?
South Dakota.
Of the naughty little pair of leather leaderhosen I'll be sporting while serving shinitzle and spagle on Valentines night.
Pearl asking who hit her as I walked her back to the patrol car.
Teaching K2 how to yodel on the ski lift when I surprised him on his birthday and took him skiing instead of school.
Of the invasion of goateed men at work.
Warm ginger snaps.
Of the beauty at http://www.augustlalliflowers.com/
My hatred of car dealerships and salesmen.
My chiropractor with the shoe fetish.
The Citadel pussy.
The song automated Boy by The Dresden Dolls.
Art dot cards.
Men in recliners.
Drive by lawn trollings.
Hopefully lunching in Anoka.
K2 walking out of class the day after he witnessed me walk out of the new jeep transaction.
The class I'll be teaching with Sweatin John.
Why all black pants make my skin itch. Am I allergic to black?
The upcoming strange shenanigans at http://notjustadogandmonkeyshow.blogspot.com/ And can someone please tell him how to post a picture on his profile?
I promise I will try to write and keep you up more often. But you never know.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
At Least Good Guys Finish
I wish I had met you sooner
fucked ya up twist you turn you into a train wreck loser
show you the truly dark side of the moon
eat you up baby with my warped spoon
be my freak tweakin for the poon
wear you like a string around my finger
flick off the world with you my little ringer
turn you inside out left out to dry teach you how it feels to cry
ride you hard put away wet
you'd beg for more bitch wanta bet
use you up for my joy ride
shred every once of your masculine pride
strut my welcome mat to trap you for my chew toy
want to taste some candy little boy
run for the hills don't look back
keep me from makin you a burned up hater
your so better off never than later
fucked ya up twist you turn you into a train wreck loser
show you the truly dark side of the moon
eat you up baby with my warped spoon
be my freak tweakin for the poon
wear you like a string around my finger
flick off the world with you my little ringer
turn you inside out left out to dry teach you how it feels to cry
ride you hard put away wet
you'd beg for more bitch wanta bet
use you up for my joy ride
shred every once of your masculine pride
strut my welcome mat to trap you for my chew toy
want to taste some candy little boy
run for the hills don't look back
keep me from makin you a burned up hater
your so better off never than later
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Pearl Jam
Thank God for silver foxes.
The world needs more sweet little old ladies who drive silver sports cars.
Sharp as tacks pushing centurion who do lunch at their less mobile friends homes.
Thank you Lord for giving them the timing to do their outings while young children and pedestrians are in school.
Great Grannies smart enough to buy wheels with all the necessary deployable air bags.
Wise sun spotted beauties who are nimble enough to maneuver around snow plows.
Blessed be genuine who are able to scan the horizon for road signs, but miss seeing my stand still jeep.
Wizen angles who make it possible for me to have insurance pay for my back rubs and new neck adornment.
Sweeties named Pearl who are too tough to let there paramedic examine her, and worry about my well being.
Heaven sent ladies who will never drive again and keep the more venerable safe.
Nursing home refugees who will make the salesman of my next, even bigger SUV, fall on their knees.
Thank you, for perfect timing.
The world needs more sweet little old ladies who drive silver sports cars.
Sharp as tacks pushing centurion who do lunch at their less mobile friends homes.
Thank you Lord for giving them the timing to do their outings while young children and pedestrians are in school.
Great Grannies smart enough to buy wheels with all the necessary deployable air bags.
Wise sun spotted beauties who are nimble enough to maneuver around snow plows.
Blessed be genuine who are able to scan the horizon for road signs, but miss seeing my stand still jeep.
Wizen angles who make it possible for me to have insurance pay for my back rubs and new neck adornment.
Sweeties named Pearl who are too tough to let there paramedic examine her, and worry about my well being.
Heaven sent ladies who will never drive again and keep the more venerable safe.
Nursing home refugees who will make the salesman of my next, even bigger SUV, fall on their knees.
Thank you, for perfect timing.
Monday, January 30, 2006
My Secret Liaison
"Renee", is the name I sprawl on the dust of my window sill as I sigh and lean my forehead against the cool and grimy pane. How I miss my Renee. Our separation has dishearten me. While Renee is cavorting on vacation in the Caribbean surf, I am languishing here in my own filth.
I try not to remember my life before Renee saved me, the dark putrid hole that was my home. She came into my world about the time my first child arrived. She invaded my personal space like a slightly caustic pint sized Mr. Clean. Renee is my cleaning faerie.
My hubby, bless his obliviousness to dirt, has never noticed I have Renee. Nor do I bother to point out this fact. You would think he would have if anything noticed, a reduction in my nag time. My mantra of "take off your boots, take off your boots, pick it up!", is less often uttered from my exasperated overworked lips. How he thinks I manage to clean the entire house on the days I work, plus all the errands thrown in, sans any industrial cleaning fluids, I'll never know. And I flat out don't care. I don't like keeping things from my husband. But it would upset the man greatly if he knew I payed for her services.
Back in the day, I resisted hiring someone to clean my house. That was something that I felt I should have been able to do myself. I come from a strong line of tidy ancestors. Some who would clean the rafters in their attics every spring and the power lines that lead into their homes. Some even had to be medicated to suppress their cleaning hard drive. I can clean, mind you. I just happen to fill my time with other things. But a woman's home is often thought of as a reflection of themselves, so that is when Renee became part, if not a secret part of my family.
"Come home soon", I whisper to myself. I can't find my car keys.
I try not to remember my life before Renee saved me, the dark putrid hole that was my home. She came into my world about the time my first child arrived. She invaded my personal space like a slightly caustic pint sized Mr. Clean. Renee is my cleaning faerie.
My hubby, bless his obliviousness to dirt, has never noticed I have Renee. Nor do I bother to point out this fact. You would think he would have if anything noticed, a reduction in my nag time. My mantra of "take off your boots, take off your boots, pick it up!", is less often uttered from my exasperated overworked lips. How he thinks I manage to clean the entire house on the days I work, plus all the errands thrown in, sans any industrial cleaning fluids, I'll never know. And I flat out don't care. I don't like keeping things from my husband. But it would upset the man greatly if he knew I payed for her services.
Back in the day, I resisted hiring someone to clean my house. That was something that I felt I should have been able to do myself. I come from a strong line of tidy ancestors. Some who would clean the rafters in their attics every spring and the power lines that lead into their homes. Some even had to be medicated to suppress their cleaning hard drive. I can clean, mind you. I just happen to fill my time with other things. But a woman's home is often thought of as a reflection of themselves, so that is when Renee became part, if not a secret part of my family.
"Come home soon", I whisper to myself. I can't find my car keys.
Monday, January 23, 2006
Because a Scientist Said So
Today has been deemed as the years most depressing day. Some scientist hatched up the equation to formulate it as being so. Time of year, weather, self esteem, financial debt and sunlight all factored into his equation. Just when I was feeling really great about marking yet another revaluation around the sun.
You got to fight fire, with fire. My my case, cold with cold. To beat cabin fever, and to also celebrate my son's birthday, I decided to kick the old thermostat down a notch. I found an even colder, smaller and darker place to party. It will be in a fish house up north. Take that, old man winter. We are biting back.
I am pulling the boys out of school, with a couple of friends, for a long weekend in a deluxe sleeper fish house on Mille Lacs. Deluxe means it has beds, a bathroom, and a stove. Mille Lacs is Native American for "Freezes Ass for Fish". Good times. Good times. I am packing cards, movies and lots of food, along with the game hnefatefl. (Viking chess) The biggest surprise will be when the sled dog team I found pulls up in front of our ice shack to surprise my son and his friends with a ride across the frozen tundra.
When I heard the 6 o'clock news that I should just be sobbing or drinking, instead of in my happy little buzz, I picked up the phone and called the resort we will be staying at.
"How much ice do you have on the lake?"
"Twenty-two inches on our bay right now."
Asking if the fish are biting is just redundant.
"Happy Birthday!!", I yelled into the phone before hanging up.
My formula for happy is this,
Pi, or cake for that matter times six, frozen, add goofy infinity minus reason, plus a fraction of adventure.
Maybe we will pee that into the snow and send that scientist a picture of my equation.
You got to fight fire, with fire. My my case, cold with cold. To beat cabin fever, and to also celebrate my son's birthday, I decided to kick the old thermostat down a notch. I found an even colder, smaller and darker place to party. It will be in a fish house up north. Take that, old man winter. We are biting back.
I am pulling the boys out of school, with a couple of friends, for a long weekend in a deluxe sleeper fish house on Mille Lacs. Deluxe means it has beds, a bathroom, and a stove. Mille Lacs is Native American for "Freezes Ass for Fish". Good times. Good times. I am packing cards, movies and lots of food, along with the game hnefatefl. (Viking chess) The biggest surprise will be when the sled dog team I found pulls up in front of our ice shack to surprise my son and his friends with a ride across the frozen tundra.
When I heard the 6 o'clock news that I should just be sobbing or drinking, instead of in my happy little buzz, I picked up the phone and called the resort we will be staying at.
"How much ice do you have on the lake?"
"Twenty-two inches on our bay right now."
Asking if the fish are biting is just redundant.
"Happy Birthday!!", I yelled into the phone before hanging up.
My formula for happy is this,
Pi, or cake for that matter times six, frozen, add goofy infinity minus reason, plus a fraction of adventure.
Maybe we will pee that into the snow and send that scientist a picture of my equation.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
The Man Hater Woman Club
So. Storm out of here with your bags packed with out even say good bye, will you? All because you didn't get your way. Too bad I didn't notice until all day after the movie that you left.
You can lead a man to water, but you can't make him think.
How ridiculously childish. Do you think you are punishing me by withholding your grouchy coot like demeanor? I refuse to call you first this time and say,"You are what? you are what?", until you say you are sorry. Ain't gonna happen.
If you build a man a fire, you keep him warm for a night. If you set a man on fire, you keep him warm for the rest of his life.
This is hurting you more than it is me. You are out of town surrounded by strangers. Ponder that one as you deprive yourself from my company. You gotta crawl back sooner or later. After all, the pay check always comes to this address.
Men. You can't live with them, you can't bludgeon them in the back of the head and bury them under the deck in your back yard. Often.
You can lead a man to water, but you can't make him think.
How ridiculously childish. Do you think you are punishing me by withholding your grouchy coot like demeanor? I refuse to call you first this time and say,"You are what? you are what?", until you say you are sorry. Ain't gonna happen.
If you build a man a fire, you keep him warm for a night. If you set a man on fire, you keep him warm for the rest of his life.
This is hurting you more than it is me. You are out of town surrounded by strangers. Ponder that one as you deprive yourself from my company. You gotta crawl back sooner or later. After all, the pay check always comes to this address.
Men. You can't live with them, you can't bludgeon them in the back of the head and bury them under the deck in your back yard. Often.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
A Waste of Breath
As we lie in bed together, I would snuggle up behind him and wrap my arms around him before whispering a silent "I love you", against his back. He wasn't a very good listener. And I, an even worse talker.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Casting Call
"Ok now, Quinten, Spielberg, I'm ready to do this. Is the talent here?"
"Some are. Not a lot will show up until you send them the script tho, Munkay."
"The time is now boys, now. Who we got to play my hubby? Rock show up yet?"
"He can't audition for you. Not with that restraining order he has against you and all."
"Shut up Q. Shut your pretty mouth. Or I'll make you wish for a face as bad as that gore you use to shock the public with in your flicks."
"Nicholas Cage. Jeff Goldblum?"
" Good but you use them a lot there Spielberg. I think Mel Gibson. John Travolta would be perfect except I hate him. He's fucking nuts. Vain nuts."
"Mel Gibson it is."
Yes, perfect, then he can get Heath Ledger to play is own son. Heath would rock as K1."
"True but Gibson won't work with his own kid."
"Seann William Scott?"
"Ok, that's somewhat of a stretch, K1 does have those beautiful blue eyes and Sean has dark. I dunno if Sean can pull of sensitive. Not after that Duke's garbage."
"If it's looks then it is the original, "Home Alone" kid. Cept him and Michael...and he is now old enough to be K1's dad..."
Ok, so keep that role open ok?"
"K2. K2. Alfred E Newman from mad comic's. Can an animated dude play real?"
"No. I'm thinking Russell Pickering, with all his curls in "Chronicles of Narnia."
"Yes. Perfect. Make him lose the goat nose. Or the guy who played in Spiderman. Six of one..."
"Sis will be played by Annie Lennox. Or Renee Zellwiger."
"I don't think Annie acts."
"Thats good. My sister doesn't sing."
"Who is Colorado sister then?"
"Sally Field. No, Susan Serandon doing Sally Field will play her."
"Um."
"And I want Chis Reeves before his accident to play my brother. Think he can pull off playing an amputee?"
"Um. You need to talk to Travolta's shrink now Munkay."
"My parents are dead, but we need someone to play them none the less. Cross Ingred
Bergman with Jane Fonda and throw in a lot of Jackie O's grace for Mum will you?"
"Yes, I'll call special effects.."
"Dad is John Wayne/David Soul/John Boy Walton. Add Willy Nelsens love of intoxicating beverages."
"What about you Munkay? Who plays you?"
"That monkey from "Every which Way But Lose", available?"
"You do have a kinda Kristin Johnson from Third Rock thing happening."
"I think I'm more Kate Hudson or Bette Middler."
"Ugg boots does not make you Kate Hudson."
"Yeah, but I like rock stars. Lenny Kravitz care to polish my casting couch?"
"Does Mel know you talk like this?"
"Munkay you could use some extra's. Who else would we cast in your life..........
"Some are. Not a lot will show up until you send them the script tho, Munkay."
"The time is now boys, now. Who we got to play my hubby? Rock show up yet?"
"He can't audition for you. Not with that restraining order he has against you and all."
"Shut up Q. Shut your pretty mouth. Or I'll make you wish for a face as bad as that gore you use to shock the public with in your flicks."
"Nicholas Cage. Jeff Goldblum?"
" Good but you use them a lot there Spielberg. I think Mel Gibson. John Travolta would be perfect except I hate him. He's fucking nuts. Vain nuts."
"Mel Gibson it is."
Yes, perfect, then he can get Heath Ledger to play is own son. Heath would rock as K1."
"True but Gibson won't work with his own kid."
"Seann William Scott?"
"Ok, that's somewhat of a stretch, K1 does have those beautiful blue eyes and Sean has dark. I dunno if Sean can pull of sensitive. Not after that Duke's garbage."
"If it's looks then it is the original, "Home Alone" kid. Cept him and Michael...and he is now old enough to be K1's dad..."
Ok, so keep that role open ok?"
"K2. K2. Alfred E Newman from mad comic's. Can an animated dude play real?"
"No. I'm thinking Russell Pickering, with all his curls in "Chronicles of Narnia."
"Yes. Perfect. Make him lose the goat nose. Or the guy who played in Spiderman. Six of one..."
"Sis will be played by Annie Lennox. Or Renee Zellwiger."
"I don't think Annie acts."
"Thats good. My sister doesn't sing."
"Who is Colorado sister then?"
"Sally Field. No, Susan Serandon doing Sally Field will play her."
"Um."
"And I want Chis Reeves before his accident to play my brother. Think he can pull off playing an amputee?"
"Um. You need to talk to Travolta's shrink now Munkay."
"My parents are dead, but we need someone to play them none the less. Cross Ingred
Bergman with Jane Fonda and throw in a lot of Jackie O's grace for Mum will you?"
"Yes, I'll call special effects.."
"Dad is John Wayne/David Soul/John Boy Walton. Add Willy Nelsens love of intoxicating beverages."
"What about you Munkay? Who plays you?"
"That monkey from "Every which Way But Lose", available?"
"You do have a kinda Kristin Johnson from Third Rock thing happening."
"I think I'm more Kate Hudson or Bette Middler."
"Ugg boots does not make you Kate Hudson."
"Yeah, but I like rock stars. Lenny Kravitz care to polish my casting couch?"
"Does Mel know you talk like this?"
"Munkay you could use some extra's. Who else would we cast in your life..........
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
A Boyfriend, a Lover, a Husband, and a Stranger
Our knees touched beneath the table in that dark local bar. His shoulders where bigger than the table that held our beer. The locals were getting wild, happy hour had just begun. One of the regulars, who had coins left over from his brew, fed the jute box. Old country rock poured out and increased the volume of the joint, along with the anticipation in that smoky room. Momentary silence surprised everyone when the song ended, leaving conversations, now able to be heard, dangling in the air, absorbed by ears they were not intended for. As the opening rift to my favorite old Stones song fills the air, he leans in towards me and grabbing my hand, yells. "Dance!" There was no dance floor. There was barely room to squeeze in between tables, but he stood up, and pushed everything he could out of our way to make room. He only had space to move his upper torso to the rhythm as I jumped to the beat. He danced with grace, for such a large man, and would peek shyly from underneath his cowboy hat for my reaction. I threw back my head and laughed with joy as I perspired and bounced. When my girlfriend walked in, he motioned to her, with a nod of his head to join us, but she was unable to weave across the crowded room. So she danced with us from where she was. I remember wishing the music would never end and the endless possibilities, if only we had a dance floor.
I was freezing cold and I was wanting to call it quits, and pack up for the day, when the band struck up. "Dance with me?", I implored him in front of his fair weather friends and began dancing where I without walking to the pit. I knew if he turned his back on me, I would loose him to some buddy, or sale, or simply be forgotten. "C'mon, one dance", I taunted dancing inbetween him and his marks. If he was foolish enough to turn me down, one of his so called cohorts would take me up on it, and I knew his ego would not allow that. "Ok, ok, let me find someone to watch my stuff." I followed him into the front of the band, and tried to dance with him. He did not look at me once. He faced the band and jerked his body in an ungainly manner as ifhe were an epileptic trying to strike a wressling pose. When I danced in front of him, back into his line of vision, he turned away again, to look to see who might else be in the crowd. By that time, I was so embarrassed by his dicombobulated movements, it did not bother me a bit to be ignored by this man to was so intent on seeing who was watching him. He never noticed me slip away into the crowd. I was wishing no one thought I was his partner, I knew I would never be warm with him.
The ball room was lit with holiday sparkle and my heels along with my boredom were killing me. We were having yet another conversation on a subject I knew nothing off, with some faceless suits and their partners, when the orchestra switched from classical to dance. Our group disapates, some to the bar, but most to the dance floor. "Dance with me?" I beg him, heading him off as I know he is heading to a table. "No, I want to sit down." "Please dance with me?", I try one more time without shame. "Come one buddy, get out there on the floor." I am saved by one of his associates who sees how bad I want to dance, but understands how inappropriate it would be to ask me himself. Once on the floor he closes his eyes, to better concentrate on getting his own dance moves right, shutting me out to dance by myself. So I study him, knowing he is self conscious and wanting to make him more so. As I watch him, taking his measured and timed steps, I wonder how much fun he could be, if he were to cut the corporate marionette strings that choreograph his footwork.
It is late and I don't want to be there. I put in my face time, made my appearance with the girls and am ready to go home. It is now to loud and dark in the club to hold anything close to a conversation and the everyone here is at the stage where they are vieing for attention by trying to be the funniest and wildest in the place. I am done, and push back my chair from the table and stand, planning on yelling my goodnights and running off before any of them can protest my leaving, and there he is, standing at my elbow. "Will you dance with me?" he asks. Surprised, I think what the heck, as he leads me by the hand to the floor. We dance together easily, as if we had both done this all our lives. When the crowd became thick on the dance floor, he simply placed one of his hands on my waist to keep us in synch without any interference. His touch was not needed but apreaciated. I do not know what I thought during that dance, I only felt apart of warm perfection in union.
I was freezing cold and I was wanting to call it quits, and pack up for the day, when the band struck up. "Dance with me?", I implored him in front of his fair weather friends and began dancing where I without walking to the pit. I knew if he turned his back on me, I would loose him to some buddy, or sale, or simply be forgotten. "C'mon, one dance", I taunted dancing inbetween him and his marks. If he was foolish enough to turn me down, one of his so called cohorts would take me up on it, and I knew his ego would not allow that. "Ok, ok, let me find someone to watch my stuff." I followed him into the front of the band, and tried to dance with him. He did not look at me once. He faced the band and jerked his body in an ungainly manner as ifhe were an epileptic trying to strike a wressling pose. When I danced in front of him, back into his line of vision, he turned away again, to look to see who might else be in the crowd. By that time, I was so embarrassed by his dicombobulated movements, it did not bother me a bit to be ignored by this man to was so intent on seeing who was watching him. He never noticed me slip away into the crowd. I was wishing no one thought I was his partner, I knew I would never be warm with him.
The ball room was lit with holiday sparkle and my heels along with my boredom were killing me. We were having yet another conversation on a subject I knew nothing off, with some faceless suits and their partners, when the orchestra switched from classical to dance. Our group disapates, some to the bar, but most to the dance floor. "Dance with me?" I beg him, heading him off as I know he is heading to a table. "No, I want to sit down." "Please dance with me?", I try one more time without shame. "Come one buddy, get out there on the floor." I am saved by one of his associates who sees how bad I want to dance, but understands how inappropriate it would be to ask me himself. Once on the floor he closes his eyes, to better concentrate on getting his own dance moves right, shutting me out to dance by myself. So I study him, knowing he is self conscious and wanting to make him more so. As I watch him, taking his measured and timed steps, I wonder how much fun he could be, if he were to cut the corporate marionette strings that choreograph his footwork.
It is late and I don't want to be there. I put in my face time, made my appearance with the girls and am ready to go home. It is now to loud and dark in the club to hold anything close to a conversation and the everyone here is at the stage where they are vieing for attention by trying to be the funniest and wildest in the place. I am done, and push back my chair from the table and stand, planning on yelling my goodnights and running off before any of them can protest my leaving, and there he is, standing at my elbow. "Will you dance with me?" he asks. Surprised, I think what the heck, as he leads me by the hand to the floor. We dance together easily, as if we had both done this all our lives. When the crowd became thick on the dance floor, he simply placed one of his hands on my waist to keep us in synch without any interference. His touch was not needed but apreaciated. I do not know what I thought during that dance, I only felt apart of warm perfection in union.
Monday, January 09, 2006
Or if Hell Just Up and Froze Over
I could like him, I think,
If he just wasn't so damn annoying.
Or he knew what he was doing.
All he would have to do is just shut up.
Or if he weren't such a know it all.
Or a pervert for that matter.
Maybe if he was even slightly attractive.
Or had some money.
And ambition.
Probley if he were in a debilitating car wreck that left him comatose.
For sure if he moved to a third world country to build homes for orphans.
Possibly if he got a good raucous alien probing.
Or if the sewage being dumped from an over head jet smothered him.
And if he fell down and the pigs ate him.
Or if he tripped on his own tongue and ripped it out and bled to death while panting over the skirts.
Or donated his heart to an ailing orangutan.
And if he spontaneously combusted and left nothing but a bad smell.
Then, maybe, I might like him.
But until then, I don't. And probley never will.
If he just wasn't so damn annoying.
Or he knew what he was doing.
All he would have to do is just shut up.
Or if he weren't such a know it all.
Or a pervert for that matter.
Maybe if he was even slightly attractive.
Or had some money.
And ambition.
Probley if he were in a debilitating car wreck that left him comatose.
For sure if he moved to a third world country to build homes for orphans.
Possibly if he got a good raucous alien probing.
Or if the sewage being dumped from an over head jet smothered him.
And if he fell down and the pigs ate him.
Or if he tripped on his own tongue and ripped it out and bled to death while panting over the skirts.
Or donated his heart to an ailing orangutan.
And if he spontaneously combusted and left nothing but a bad smell.
Then, maybe, I might like him.
But until then, I don't. And probley never will.
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Year End Top Ten
Ten things of no significant value that I have compiled into a list, just because I like lists. Do with them what you will.
10- How many fingers I still have. So what if one is just a tad bit shorter?
9-The number of times I mailed myself to Hollywood, California, in care of The Rock.
8- The number of times someone in my family has been in an emergency ward this year. The reasons follow. 1- collar bone 2-wrist 3-foot 4-thing with k2 that was so embarrassing that I promised I would never tell 5-finger 6-dehydration(see number 9 above) 7 and 8-ham string and neck, two family members, inexperienced at leg wrestling
7-Number of family member that either aren't human or are imaginary.
6- Why is six afraid of seven? Seven eight nine!
5-The number of hours spent yesterday trying to erect a winter tent to sleep in.
4-How many times my hubby moved out on me.
3- Number of favorite new swear words I've made up while on Christmas vacation. They are: Grunion Blut, Dill Wad, and Fole. Now go wash your eyes out for reading them.
2-The number of pounds I've lost between Thanksgiving and New Year.
1- The one best present received this year according to my kids, super sized package of toilet paper. It is big enough to sit on and use as a sled on our carpeted stairs. I didn't even have to wrap it.
Happy New Year!
10- How many fingers I still have. So what if one is just a tad bit shorter?
9-The number of times I mailed myself to Hollywood, California, in care of The Rock.
8- The number of times someone in my family has been in an emergency ward this year. The reasons follow. 1- collar bone 2-wrist 3-foot 4-thing with k2 that was so embarrassing that I promised I would never tell 5-finger 6-dehydration(see number 9 above) 7 and 8-ham string and neck, two family members, inexperienced at leg wrestling
7-Number of family member that either aren't human or are imaginary.
6- Why is six afraid of seven? Seven eight nine!
5-The number of hours spent yesterday trying to erect a winter tent to sleep in.
4-How many times my hubby moved out on me.
3- Number of favorite new swear words I've made up while on Christmas vacation. They are: Grunion Blut, Dill Wad, and Fole. Now go wash your eyes out for reading them.
2-The number of pounds I've lost between Thanksgiving and New Year.
1- The one best present received this year according to my kids, super sized package of toilet paper. It is big enough to sit on and use as a sled on our carpeted stairs. I didn't even have to wrap it.
Happy New Year!
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Fill Out the Form
"Ms...Munkay?"
"Yes! That's me!"
"Step into my office, please."
"Yes! Good! I'm so excited to be here."
"You are? That's good. I'm Mr. Stick Opmibutt."
"Mr. Opmibutt, how soon till I get my new life?"
"This is an employment agency."
"Yes, same difference really. New title, new role, new life. How fast can I trade mine in?"
"Umm, lets have a look at your resume you have filled out here...You never bothered to complete it, Ms. Munkay."
"Yes, I had every intention to but my attention deficit kicked in and I was forced to rearrange your office while you made me wait."
"You rearranged my furniture without asking me??"
"Don't forget painting, it needed some color."
"How long where you sitting out there...Did you really..."
"No- no, only in my mind, it looks much better in there now."
"Ummm, mm, ok, so you are an interior designer?"
"Well, no. Doing that actual manual labor bores me but, hey, that's not what I want to do, what else you got for me?"
"Are you currently employed?"
""Yes, I'm ployed."
"Ployed? Ms. Munkay?"
"Yes, I cut things for a living."
"You cut things?"
"Yes. Cut and burn. Chop chop. Sizzle. Way too sterile environment for me really. I want to be someone else awhile."
"What do you want to be?"
"Something more edgy. Thrilling even. And glamorous. Oh bring on the glamour. Glam me up Mr Opmibutt."
"Got any examples then do you?"
"Opera singer. My heart longs for musical drama."
"Are you a trained singer?"
"Oh hell no. But for a good night gig, with a wardrobe and the right makeup.."
"Can you sing at all?"
"And the proper lighting, I even own my own helmet with horns.."
"No! Munkay, you cannot fake true musical talent!"
"Is it the weight thing? It's the weight thing isn't it! I can gain weight you know.."
"Ms, Munkay, please. How about something you have some experience in."
Blank look.
"Any ideas from your past work history?"
"No, I don't want to do any of that. That is why I am here.
"Your resume says your first job was a cabin girl/waitress."
"Yes, I moved out at the age of fourteen to live at a fishing resort for a season."
"How about that? Would you like to do that again? Learn anything you could use now?"
"I made less than minimum wage. The cost of the cabin they rented me and my meals ate up my paltry paycheck. I did learn, however, I could pass as a much older girl out at the resorts and buy alcohol, which I did make a profit off by selling to other minors."
"Ok, well that was a start, but did you learn anything legal."
"Yes! When the feds come, say, " I am only behind the bar here to wash the glasses, I never serve the devil drink.."
"Munkay!"
"Ok ok. Any one touches me and I run get Gary Boggs off the launch..."
"Hermm. Maybe we try a different approach. "What kind of education did you receive?"
"Please, Mr. Opmibutt, I didn't finish filling out your form. Think I would ever finish any graduate plan? My last credit class I pulled an A on, which brought my GPA up to 4.o. Perfect time to quite."
"That's some screwy reasoning there Munkay."
"Works for me. Keeps me number one. In my book."
"What else. What other experience can we draw from? Oh I see here, you once danced for money?"
Blink
"You danced for money, did you?"
Blink Blink
"You made enough to buy a car?"
Stare
"You do have some stage experience then!"
"That was a long time ago. I'm not even sure, if it was me, I mean. It was my evil twin. Really. And it was much more a shake than a dance. And we are only talking about a Toyota..."
"You have any skills that are untapped? Any hidden talents?
"ANCHOR BOLTS!"
"Excuse me?"
"Anchor bolts!! I can set up a theatolight laser beam to check the corordinates of a location. Give me a blue print and a set degree and I can tell you if your building is on the nuts! And I can talk the lingo."
"So you can do survey and layout?"
"I can snap a line and shoot a target You don't want any sky scraper planned on what I tell you, mind, but I can tell you if your footings are off."
"There you go Munkay. Off to the survey company office."
"No. Not so fast. I can't stand still out in the cold Especially without a bathroom. And where is the glamour?"
"What else you got? Talent wise?"
"I'm a killer tetherball player. I can decapitate you if one of my serves."
"Munkay. Get serious."
"Knock your head off from here right now. Boom!"
"Any office skills?"
"I worked in an office for two years!"
"How many works per minute? Can you spread sheet and Word?"
"Oh hell no, I type with two fingers."
"How did you last two years in an office?"
"The boss said I knew how to sit a good lap."
"Your boss was a pervert."
"Yes, that's what I told him when I married him. Too bad he fired me after I redecorated his office so nice.."
"You are married. With children?"
"Yes."
"Then you must have some marketable skills that comes with being a parent, I'd assume?"
"Yes, I can drive a stick, while eating an ice cream cone, and talk on the phone, all at the same time, and still be able to do a reach around slap upside the head as needed. Are you thinking taxi driver? I'm not doing taxiing, unless we go where I want. Thats the standing rule now. That and when I'm behind the wheel, we listen to what I want. Period."
"I'm scared to ask, but do you have any other usable skills or talents?"
"I was an antique dealer for a spell."
"How was that then?"
"Oh the money! If I had all the money I spent on crap, well I could furnish my house with piles money instead of crap."
"Now you are exaggerating are you not?"
"A natzi flag, Mr. Opmibutt. What was I going to do with that?"
"Why would you buy a natzi flag Munkay, I ask, scared even as the words leave my mouth?"
"Well it was an action wasn't it. And there was only a sick skin head bidding on it. I mean yes, I did bid up the price of the helmet and handbook and other junk he was bidding on so he had to pay a racist arm and a leg for it, but I really didn't think he was going to stop bidding so soon on the flag. That was one expensive fire we roasted our mellos over that night I tell you."
"What else you got Munkay?"
"That flower thing?"
"You have worked with flowers?"
"More like I fought flowers."
"Was that a bad pay for view or reality show?"
"Could have been. "The Ferral Florist." I scraped with everyone, everything. Customers, delivery drivers, equiptment. Had a knock down brawl in the shop with my own sister. That bitch thinks she fired me but I quite, I did. But it was those damn roses that almost killed me. Come to find out, alergic I am."
"Thats a negitive when you can't even work well with others. Anything you can do solo?"
"I can hold really hot things in my mouth."
"You can hold..."
"Yes I can. Stuff can be to hot for my fingers up yet there I am able to taste and eat really hot things."
"And so you could be ah..,a.., mini refridgerator..."
"I'm thinking flame eater in the circa solei or blue mans group pehalps."
"Yes, that's it, perfect! Get right on that! Out of my office, out you go.."
"Can you tell me if they got medical insurance?"
"Now that is not the question for me, but for the union, Munkay."
"If I worked only nights, does that qualify as my day job as long as it is full time?"
"Off you go now, don't let my door catch you in the tail on your way out."
"Yes! That's me!"
"Step into my office, please."
"Yes! Good! I'm so excited to be here."
"You are? That's good. I'm Mr. Stick Opmibutt."
"Mr. Opmibutt, how soon till I get my new life?"
"This is an employment agency."
"Yes, same difference really. New title, new role, new life. How fast can I trade mine in?"
"Umm, lets have a look at your resume you have filled out here...You never bothered to complete it, Ms. Munkay."
"Yes, I had every intention to but my attention deficit kicked in and I was forced to rearrange your office while you made me wait."
"You rearranged my furniture without asking me??"
"Don't forget painting, it needed some color."
"How long where you sitting out there...Did you really..."
"No- no, only in my mind, it looks much better in there now."
"Ummm, mm, ok, so you are an interior designer?"
"Well, no. Doing that actual manual labor bores me but, hey, that's not what I want to do, what else you got for me?"
"Are you currently employed?"
""Yes, I'm ployed."
"Ployed? Ms. Munkay?"
"Yes, I cut things for a living."
"You cut things?"
"Yes. Cut and burn. Chop chop. Sizzle. Way too sterile environment for me really. I want to be someone else awhile."
"What do you want to be?"
"Something more edgy. Thrilling even. And glamorous. Oh bring on the glamour. Glam me up Mr Opmibutt."
"Got any examples then do you?"
"Opera singer. My heart longs for musical drama."
"Are you a trained singer?"
"Oh hell no. But for a good night gig, with a wardrobe and the right makeup.."
"Can you sing at all?"
"And the proper lighting, I even own my own helmet with horns.."
"No! Munkay, you cannot fake true musical talent!"
"Is it the weight thing? It's the weight thing isn't it! I can gain weight you know.."
"Ms, Munkay, please. How about something you have some experience in."
Blank look.
"Any ideas from your past work history?"
"No, I don't want to do any of that. That is why I am here.
"Your resume says your first job was a cabin girl/waitress."
"Yes, I moved out at the age of fourteen to live at a fishing resort for a season."
"How about that? Would you like to do that again? Learn anything you could use now?"
"I made less than minimum wage. The cost of the cabin they rented me and my meals ate up my paltry paycheck. I did learn, however, I could pass as a much older girl out at the resorts and buy alcohol, which I did make a profit off by selling to other minors."
"Ok, well that was a start, but did you learn anything legal."
"Yes! When the feds come, say, " I am only behind the bar here to wash the glasses, I never serve the devil drink.."
"Munkay!"
"Ok ok. Any one touches me and I run get Gary Boggs off the launch..."
"Hermm. Maybe we try a different approach. "What kind of education did you receive?"
"Please, Mr. Opmibutt, I didn't finish filling out your form. Think I would ever finish any graduate plan? My last credit class I pulled an A on, which brought my GPA up to 4.o. Perfect time to quite."
"That's some screwy reasoning there Munkay."
"Works for me. Keeps me number one. In my book."
"What else. What other experience can we draw from? Oh I see here, you once danced for money?"
Blink
"You danced for money, did you?"
Blink Blink
"You made enough to buy a car?"
Stare
"You do have some stage experience then!"
"That was a long time ago. I'm not even sure, if it was me, I mean. It was my evil twin. Really. And it was much more a shake than a dance. And we are only talking about a Toyota..."
"You have any skills that are untapped? Any hidden talents?
"ANCHOR BOLTS!"
"Excuse me?"
"Anchor bolts!! I can set up a theatolight laser beam to check the corordinates of a location. Give me a blue print and a set degree and I can tell you if your building is on the nuts! And I can talk the lingo."
"So you can do survey and layout?"
"I can snap a line and shoot a target You don't want any sky scraper planned on what I tell you, mind, but I can tell you if your footings are off."
"There you go Munkay. Off to the survey company office."
"No. Not so fast. I can't stand still out in the cold Especially without a bathroom. And where is the glamour?"
"What else you got? Talent wise?"
"I'm a killer tetherball player. I can decapitate you if one of my serves."
"Munkay. Get serious."
"Knock your head off from here right now. Boom!"
"Any office skills?"
"I worked in an office for two years!"
"How many works per minute? Can you spread sheet and Word?"
"Oh hell no, I type with two fingers."
"How did you last two years in an office?"
"The boss said I knew how to sit a good lap."
"Your boss was a pervert."
"Yes, that's what I told him when I married him. Too bad he fired me after I redecorated his office so nice.."
"You are married. With children?"
"Yes."
"Then you must have some marketable skills that comes with being a parent, I'd assume?"
"Yes, I can drive a stick, while eating an ice cream cone, and talk on the phone, all at the same time, and still be able to do a reach around slap upside the head as needed. Are you thinking taxi driver? I'm not doing taxiing, unless we go where I want. Thats the standing rule now. That and when I'm behind the wheel, we listen to what I want. Period."
"I'm scared to ask, but do you have any other usable skills or talents?"
"I was an antique dealer for a spell."
"How was that then?"
"Oh the money! If I had all the money I spent on crap, well I could furnish my house with piles money instead of crap."
"Now you are exaggerating are you not?"
"A natzi flag, Mr. Opmibutt. What was I going to do with that?"
"Why would you buy a natzi flag Munkay, I ask, scared even as the words leave my mouth?"
"Well it was an action wasn't it. And there was only a sick skin head bidding on it. I mean yes, I did bid up the price of the helmet and handbook and other junk he was bidding on so he had to pay a racist arm and a leg for it, but I really didn't think he was going to stop bidding so soon on the flag. That was one expensive fire we roasted our mellos over that night I tell you."
"What else you got Munkay?"
"That flower thing?"
"You have worked with flowers?"
"More like I fought flowers."
"Was that a bad pay for view or reality show?"
"Could have been. "The Ferral Florist." I scraped with everyone, everything. Customers, delivery drivers, equiptment. Had a knock down brawl in the shop with my own sister. That bitch thinks she fired me but I quite, I did. But it was those damn roses that almost killed me. Come to find out, alergic I am."
"Thats a negitive when you can't even work well with others. Anything you can do solo?"
"I can hold really hot things in my mouth."
"You can hold..."
"Yes I can. Stuff can be to hot for my fingers up yet there I am able to taste and eat really hot things."
"And so you could be ah..,a.., mini refridgerator..."
"I'm thinking flame eater in the circa solei or blue mans group pehalps."
"Yes, that's it, perfect! Get right on that! Out of my office, out you go.."
"Can you tell me if they got medical insurance?"
"Now that is not the question for me, but for the union, Munkay."
"If I worked only nights, does that qualify as my day job as long as it is full time?"
"Off you go now, don't let my door catch you in the tail on your way out."
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Friday, December 23, 2005
Why is the question you have to ask when looking at this picture. Why does Wolfy have such a peculair expression on his face? Because he just discovered this ancient mooring pin and he is asking himself that very question? Why would anyone put it all the way up here when the water is all the way down there? Plus there is fear and excitment on his face. Who put it here? Explorers? Immigrents? Vikings? How many years of water errosion caused the mooring pin to be this high and the water level now so far down? Who could be srtong enough to drive it into the rock? Then you got to ask yourself why a parent would let their kid rock climb in only a swim suit. And what is in his other hand? I let him climb dressed like that because he thought he could. Not only did he climb but held my car keys in an old film container incase they dropped into the current below. Why did I name this child Wolfy? It is a strong name and it fits him. Not only do I bieleve this kid can climb mountains but move them as well.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
