Regular readers will know that on occasion I spill a few lines. Indeed, I had a regular series of political poetry on John Kerry (see links in sidebar).
After participating for a number of years, I have finally broken into the circle of winners. That's right, you heathens, I pulled out a 2nd Runner-Up. Presumably, if the winner and the first runner-up are unable to complete their duties, I'll get a shot. That's a joke, so you know.
The point of this contest is to sound like a college student and write a horrible piece of poetry spewing self-hatred and the like. You often get points-off for correct spelling, punctuation, and grammer.
Anyway, I wanted to post my poem here because the dramatic end got cut off of the post at Hatemonger's Quarterly.
So, here 'tis:
No more salad for me, Mom!
The guilt, the guilt weighs heavy on my shoulders Pushing me down down down where i rightly belong.
How long - lo! so many years have i masticated, chewed, gobbled, and munched Proudly and yes, even arrogantly murdered my green friends at the salad bar.
The shame, the shame does not the cereal have rights? does not she want to go to seed and see her fruit grow up around her?
i, murderer me, am complicit in a worldwide conspiracy the subjugation of all green things to my plate and my palate
the plant kingdom should rightly rise up and crush us in her photosynthesized grasp for the indignity of being smothered in Hidden Valley Ranch and the barbarity of cheese
we rape her and eat her offspring in tasty pies and tarts we grind the bones of her babies to make our bread and my, oh my! after plundering Mother Earth for so long of her fossil fuels now we take our green friend's babe to fuel our lust for the hum of the V8
The kindest and most Earth-friendly thing i can do is cease to be.
So, i plunge this spade into my heart, turning the Earth over myself in supplication.
Sometimes I wish that I were a smoker so I could take a smoke break.
Sometimes I wish I were more of a drinker so that I could enjoy happy hour.
Sometimes I wish I was five years old again so that I could have milk and cookies and a nap in the middle of the day.
And, sometimes I wish I was the dictator of the world so that I could crush insignificant people and annoying facts under my stylish yet functional boot heel.
Okay, that last one may be a bit dark, but that's how I roll.
But, here's a summation of what's been going on...
Work is muy muy busy.
Saw Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull over the weekend. It was enjoyable, but only...okay. I enjoyed it, but could have done without the whole alien theme thing. I just didn't buy it. Maybe if it had been done differently, I don't know. But, I didn't feel cheated by the admission fee. Those ants were freakin' scary!
Sunday was a big day at our house. Bunny Boop went pee-pee in the potty. I know, you are rolling your eyes at the return to the potty training storyline, but it is one of my chief goals at this time. She's had a couple of days where she has tinkled about a tablespoon, but this time she really let go. We celebrated it like it was a huge event and she got really excited. I think we are making some headway!
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed your weekend. I'm a bit tired, but it was nice to have an extra day off.
A fee to be seated inside the fuselage instead of strapped to the wing? A fee for use of safety gear like seatbelts, oxygen masks, and life vests? Maybe they'll start charging for flights that arrive? Maybe they'll charge for not killing you in a fiery ball.
Two very bizarre events, totally unrelated except in one small way, have inspired this confession.
On Saturday afternoon, I was in the spa getting my fantasy golf league funded pedicure. For once, all the pedicure thrones were in use. The conversation between the ladies eventually wandered to classic television. Happy Days, Laverne & Shirley, Mork & Mindy...we were dating ourselves. The conversation turned to our celebrity crushes (those that sell Teen Beat subscriptions in the millions).
One lady confessed a passion for Erik Estrada of CHIP's fame. She particularly made mention of his super white and straight teeth, even back in those days, and the way he straddled his motorcycle.
We all confessed appreciation for the Duke boys. What wasn't to like about the Dukes? Those jeans were painted on, they were the original bad boys, right? In trouble with the law, driving an awesome car, and largely misunderstood but good at heart. Some girls dig Bo, others liked Luke. Me? I was all about Bo, particularly after that episode where Luke was all mean and stuff.
And I confessed my girlish dream of becoming Mrs. Ricky Schroder. I don't think I ever missed an episode of Silver Spoons. I signed my name Mrs. Ricky Schroder too many times to count. I had the official fan club photos...I was totally in crush.
Anyway, yesterday, I am scanning the headlines and I see a link to this article in which Ricky Schroder is discussing his coming appearance in the remade movie, The Andromeda Strain. He was really good on NYPD Blue and I know and like that video for Whiskey Lullabye, but I had no idea he joined the cast of 24. I may have to start watching that!
Ricky is all over the place right now, I guess.
So, I'm not really confessing that as a young girl I thought Ricky was the best. Oh, no. I'm confessing something that I realized a few years back about my high school boyfriend. He's a dead ringer for the Rickster! I guess I never really got over Ricky. So much so, that I dated his doppelganger (that word really fits).
And the thing is, Ricky still looks mighty fine. I'm still crushin' on Mark Harmon, but Ricky runs a real close second (and is closer to my age...). Still, it is more that a bit unsettling to realize that I liked Ricky so much that I was drawn to a look-alike. It explains a lot, actually. Look at those eyes. He's a good lookin' man.
Okay, so I'm not going to post a picture of the high school boyfriend. You'll just have to take my word for the resemblance. SpySistah would agree with me, however. Maybe she'll leave a comment to that effect.
Look, on the whole, I am really very accepting of other cultures. I'm a live and let live kind of girl. But today, in my inbox, I received an email which included some pictures that have been burned into my retina. I can't escape the feelings that the images evoke. See what you think...
This, it seems, is an old geisha.
Here, she is unwrapping her foot.
Her foot is now unwrapped.
OMG!
You can't tell me that this didn't hurt. I refuse to believe it! This, for fashion! Do you see? She has developed a hoof! And her toes have curled around her foot. And, I've heard of toe cleavage, but that right there is something else entirely. That's...foot chasm.
Please let this be a hoax. Let it be a photoshop. Please don't let this little old woman have gone through this!
SpySistah and I were talking (read emailing) this morning and she was wondering why it is that a can of soda tastes so much better than a bottle.
She thinks it has to do with the amount of fizz.
I postulated that it was about ice. You see, my own particular preference is for a soda from a fountain. Then a can. In last place, the bottle. I think it is because the fountain always comes with ice and I always pour a can over ice. The bottle is grab and go.
She, however, doesn't like ice. So the ice argument has...melted.
Is it possible that the formulas differ depending on the packaging? What say you, engaged reader?
That has to have been one of the most exhausting weekends in a while!
Saturday was filled with rain, so I straightened up the house a bit and did some laundry. In the afternoon, I made a run to pick up a sooper secret surprise for our princess. Yes! With the help of a wonderful friend, I managed to bring home a swing set for our little girl.
Later that evening, her father sorted all the pieces and began assembly (with some help). By 10 pm, we had reached the end of what could be done in the garage and called it a night. The next morning, after a quick run to the grocery store, assembly began anew.
My husband just tore through it! He did an amazing job. He kept me hopping as I ran after hardware and held this or that just like so. Late in the morning, another friend popped by to lend a hand and give me and Bunny a break. I fed her lunch and rotated loads of laundry. The entire project was completed by 3 pm, but our little girl didn't bother waiting for the final call. As we were adding the stuff she was busy playing.
She had to try out all three swings several times. She sat at the little picnic table. She climbed up and down the steps like a madwoman. And finally, finally, the slide was attached and she started breaking that feature in too.
The first five times she insisted on help and I had to hold her hand as she slid down. But after that, she was all confidence! She would slide down, we clapped and shouted appropriate "good girls!" She clapped too, then said in the most hilarious way "thankyou, thankyou" as though she were on a stage and had just finished her act. I almost couldn't stop laughing, it was so funny! I half expected her to remind us to tip our waitresses!
With a chorus of "Go, Go, GO!" from her audience, she would climb the ladder again and barrel down the slide anew. She had a blast! And, played herself out. She collapsed on the couch with a whimpered request for Bob (that's SpongeBob for those not in the know), and proceeded to crash within five minutes. All she needed was a short break, however, and not long after our friends returned, she was back at play with the other kids.
I took lots of pictures and will post them soon. Suffice it to say, however, that Bunny Boop's "thankyou, thankyou" and abundant kisses expressed her gratitude to her father most poignantly. Now we are all a bit tired, sunburned, and sore, but it is worth it.
Her foot is now unwrapped.
OMG!
