Going Bananas

Going Bananas

One banana, two
walking along with knapsacks
What do they carry?

The other night on the drive home I saw two people in banana suits. With back packs. I wondered if they carried trail mix, and if the trail mix had bananas in it, and if they ate the trail mix, would they be cannibals? Bananabals? Bananabals TM. Yeah people, trademarked it.

Strange Bird

Strange Bird

Fly away, strange bird
place your turkey wattle neck
on the farmer's block

This haiku is not about a bird. This haiku is about a man. With a turkey neck. Who treated me poorly. Turkey-neck man done did me wrong.

My Platitude

My Platitude

Ho! Suck it, John Tesh!
Ameliorate elsewhere
like a well bottom

A few weeks ago I was riding with a friend who was rapid-fire changing radio stations. He paused for a few seconds when he came to the dulcet tones of John Tesh's lush voice. I looked at my friend, smiling sweetly, hoping silently that he would for the love of Jesus and all that is holy change the station. I bit my lip. I smiled more broadly. I sweated profusely. I thought about grabbing the wheel and crashing the car. I waited as long as I could before I could wait no more, when finally "Suck it John Tesh!" came tumbling out of my mouth. My friend looked at me for a moment and then changed the station.

What I Want

What I Want

Soak in a hot tub
Oompa Loompas feeding me
chicken legs and cake

I sucked tea down my windpipe the other day and ever since then I have been coughing my guts out; I'm quite positive I have some sort of bog situation in my lungs. I also have a sore throat and a headache from coughing so much. What does this have to do with anything? Well, I feel oogey, and the only remedy is the above: a really lovely soak in a hot tub of water, with small orange dwarf humans wearing overalls feeding me the legs of chickens and some cake. I'm pretty sure it could be any kind of cake, but I would be especially happy if it was cup cakes. Then the little Oompa Loompas could more easily grasp the food they gingerly place in my coughing gullet. And I don't care if they see my boobs either.

The Jesus Milk Intervention

The Jesus Milk Intervention

They gave me whole milk

when I only wanted non

Jesus intervened

They have given me whole milk in my chai tea the last few times I have gone to Starbucks; my friend believes it is Jesus intervening on my behalf. Perhaps Jesus wants me to be more robust in my pantaloons area. Perhaps he thinks I will be more satisfied with more milk fat in my gullet. Honestly Jesus, it just tears up my stomach. So Jesus, instead of intervening with whole milk, why don't you intervene with some crispy new hundred dollar bills? Or the ability to write a best-selling novel in three weeks and get it sold in one? The power of consecutive perfect hair days and the Artist Formerly Known as Prince-like lyricism. Yes Jesus, start with those things. Forget the full fat dairy.

What I Need

What I Need

I need some ice cream

I need to be bionic

I need sweet-ass boots

These are some of the things I need. Two of these things I said to someone today. The last part about the boots, that's true, but I didn't say it aloud. Just imagine if I had all these things. I could run bionically fast in my sweet-ass boots while eating ice cream. I believe the ice cream would be strawberry. Bionic. Sweet ass. Strawberry.

The Plea

The Plea

Honor my presence

walk in a straight god damn line

when you cross the street

Have you ever seen people cross the street in a diagonal? Take their own sweet time? Straight up lollygag? Yes, I have too. And these people should be smote with a two-and-half ton car. All I ask is that people follow the crosswalk. Walk in a straight line. Don't talk to your mother in Virginia on your cell phone and dawdle in the middle of the street because she is trying to get the dog to say hello. Honor my presence in the world and pretend you have somewhere to be and you're late. Quickly, quickly, cross the street like you just saw the man of your dreams! And he's holding two ice cream cones! And a baby wombat! Named Josephine!

A Prayer

A Prayer

Dear Baby Jesus

please help me find my haikus

Inspiration: Gone

Sigh. What's wrong with me? Some how I fell off my haiku wagon and nothing seemed worth writing. Then the wagon rolled over my legs and they came off at the knee and I was left in the mud with only half legs that I couldn't walk on and it was really muddy, did I mention that part? And then this band of Victorian pick pocket children came along and took my money and taunted me about having only half legs and they also said that I was really dirty and that it would take many washings to get all that dirt and blood out of my clothes but since I didn't have any money I should just get used to laying around in my filthy clothing and perhaps find some sort of vocation where I didn't have to have feet. Or dignity. So then I thought I ought to write something and maybe they would all come back—the feet, the dignity, the haikus. Maybe they will. Maybe. They. Will.

Peter Jennings

Peter Jennings

If Peter Jennings

arose from the dead to anchor

I would kill Diane

I miss Peter Jennings like nobody's business. I watched the ABC World News religiously because of that man. He was such a gentleman while doling out the horrors of the day; Peter could tell me anything in that slight Canadian accent and I knew it would be okay. If some sort of zombie virus infected my beloved Peter and made him rise up, Diane should probably just retire. Right Diane? Right.

Ugly Hot Celebrities I Would Do

Ugly Hot Celebrities I Would Do

Buscemi, DaFoe

Liam, Joaquin, Tommy Lee

Mickey Rourke, Clinton

I enjoy the ugly hot man, they are usually the ones I pick to date. The pretty ones are assholes, but the ugly hot will work hard to keep your attention. They know they could be tossed aside at any moment for a better looking man. Yes, this is why I would do Mickey Rourke. And you know he would just talk dirty to you. Duuurty. Besides, I could just close my eyes and picture Mickey of the past. Oh Mickey, you were so very fine.

Robo Mule

Robo Mule

Strange headless body

knees angled forward and back

Where does carrot go?

On the interwebs the other day, I spied a video that shows a robotic "mule" made to carry stuff for the military. It is at the same time horrifying and jaunty, mesmerizing and wince inducing, grotesque and eliciting anthropomorphic love. It has sort of a mule face but no real head, and some little antennae attached to its frame that bop around like ears. I love you robo mule. I will always take care of you. I will buy you carrots that you cannot eat. I will load you up so you can carry my crap. I will watch your silly legs hippity hop along as we navigate rocky canyons and gulleys. I am sad you have no head.

Tell Me Do

Tell Me Do

Why will no one tell

when dedicated crusties

reside in my nose?

I do not understand this. Why do you let me sit and talk to you when it's obvious that I have crap in my nose? Tell me I have bats in the belfry. Also tell me when I have crap in my teeth. And when I have mascara on places other than my eyelashes. And when I have obvious flakes in my hair. And smutch on my face. And when my tags are sticking out. And when my belly is hanging over my belt loops. And when my gun is showing.

Sweater Heaven

Sweater Heaven

So soft, snuggly good

made of wee kitten faces

and chinchilla butts

I bought a sweater recently that is soft and white and feels like kitten and chinchilla parts were knitted together to make a wearable piece of heaven. Like Jesus was on the loom himself. Thank you Jesus, for my chinchilla butt sweater.

On the Oven

On the Oven

In one, with cheetah

In another, wrapped in boa

Bad hair with the cat

On the side of my tiny oven, I have a couple of photos. One is me and my brother posed with a highly drugged cheetah at the Wildlife Safari. I am about 11, and I have a short curly permanent, crooked teeth and a weight problem. The photo is phenomenal. You would beg me to see it if you knew it was a possibility. The other photo is quite recent, I think I mentioned it before, where I had a boa constrictor wrapped around my neck at the state fair. This one is also phenomenal, but because I look like a dark-haired Britney Spears. Totally. You want to come to my house now don't you?

The Liquid Crack Factor

The Liquid Crack Factor

Recyclable cup

all ready for delicious

liquid crack goodness

I have become addicted to Starbucks. It sneaked into my life, a quiet little habit that has become a mind-altering need. It made me buy a recyclable cup. It made me buy a pumpkin scone on more than one occasion. It has made me utter the words, "I would like to chew on that little bearded barista." The coffee juggernaut has rolled over me and my bank account and it doesn't care. And I will go back tomorrow.

The Pouf Pie Device

The Pouf Pie Device

Build silent machine

to deliver pie to mouth

Pouf! Deliciousness

Last week I had a "Pie Friday" with a friend. We had this insanely yummy blueberry cream cheese pie, and she said she wanted some sort of mechanism that would deliver pie to her mouth while she laid upon the couch. I said that perhaps I could construct a machine like the one in Poe's The Pit and the Pendulum that would drop pie off on every sweep. She said it had to be silent, stirring no air currents and not distracting her eye in any way. Since I am not a pie wizard, nor an engineering master capable of building silent machinery, the pouf pie device will have to wait.

Cheer Elder

Cheer Elder

The rhinestones sparkled

She smoothed it with wrinkled hands

short shorts for old legs

In the gym the other night, I found an older women in the locker room hanging some sort of fabulous blue bedazzled two-piece number on a hanger. It seemed like a cheer-leading outfit for the older set and I have no idea why she had this thing in the locker room. Did she wear it to work out in? Does she carry this outfit around all the time, hoping she'll be spotted by a company that hires the elderly to lead motivational cheers for the incontinent? Before I had a chance to ask her why she possessed such wondrous garb, she walked out, taking the sparkling magic with her. I wait for her return.

A List of my Favorite Words Beginning with the Letter H

A List of my Favorite Words Beginning with the Letter H

Hydra, helix, hex

harpy, herpetology

Hobgoblin, hyrax

Hmm, yet again my favorite words are on the creepy and weird side. Gotta love it.

Pet Names = Owl Doom

Pet Names = Owl Doom

Hello pumpkin pie

Mad scientist's phone number?

But I like the owls...

Today I was calling someone cutsie names like pumpkin pie and sweet pea. They did not like it. They said they were going to get neon-eyed owls with razor claws and put them outside my window at night. Why would you say that to someone who was calling you cookie face? Now I have to get some owl traps and anti-owl spray and an owl gun. And mice, so many mice.

Helen Gurley Brown's Baby is a Liar

Helen Gurley Brown's Baby is a Liar

Cosmo lied to me

promising some instruction

showing hot sex moves

I bought a Cosmo magazine because it had some headlines on the cover that promised enlightening information that I could use in my pursuit of guaranteed orgasms and love moves that turn him to mush. Well I have to tell you that these headlines were bogus, the articles had nothing to do with what was printed on the cover. Seriously, I looked at the headlines and then at the table of contents, then at the article and nothing made sense. I still can't guarantee an orgasm, nor do I have a dozen moves that will make a man my love slave. I should have just bought the handcuffs instead.

Welcome to My World

Welcome to My World

In world of welcomes

muffin supercedes wagon

And fruit can suck it

Does this need an explanation? No, no it does not.

The Advice

The Advice

"Dress complicated,

not like a potato sack."

Advice from a man

Before I went out on a date, I asked a dude friend how I should dress. I said that I might just wear what I was wearing at work, because it was cute and comfy. He was not impressed with this comment, and said that I should dress sexy and complicated, not like a burlap bag around a bunch of potatoes. Not that I was shaped like a bag of potatoes. Why would a man want something complicated? I talked to a lady friend who asked well what does he mean sexy and complicated, like from the 1880s? When ladies had to wear corsets and those button up shoes? Then I drifted to thoughts of bustles and petticoats, and how a gentleman should always bring a button hook on a date and keep it right next to his handkerchief. And his chloroform.

Just Peachy

Just Peachy

The amazon danced

bruised, like manhandled fruit

angry on a stage

I know someone who went to a strip club and pissed off one of the dancers because he didn't tip fast enough. He said she was well over six feet tall and had bruises all over; I think I asked why she was bruised and he gave me an answer, but I don't remember what he said. All I can see is a very angry peach on a stage. A very angry dancing peach.

Dentist Gang Universe

Dentist Gang Universe

They stalk through the streets
Tiny mirrors peek in maws
spying our terror

In another universe, there are dentist gangs that roam the streets with their picks and mirrors, seeking patients and causing terror. They are like the gangs in Westside Story, snapping their way through the avenues and boulevards, dancing in tennis shoes from the 60s, spinning dental chairs around and pointing those strange space ship-like lights at people's mouths. I am so glad that I do not live in this universe. Dentists should be kept in small spaces away from the general public, preferrably in chains and cages. Although I guess I wouldn't mind seeing them dance.

The Girl Moment

The Girl Moment

My eyes passed water
For what reason? you may ask
Total girl moment

Today I teared up. It just welled up and spilled over. It doesn't happen a lot, especially at work, but on occasion the demons of being a woman come out through the vitreous humour. Strange how this happens. I am positive this must happen to men, but they would never tell. They probably cry about having a bad car day, balding scalps and shrinking penises. Do penises shrink? Frankly I would cry over a shrinking penis as a woman too; that totally qualifies as a girl moment for both men and women.

Timer's Hat

Timer's Hat

Time for Timer's hat

Wiggly legs behind mower

brought back childhood days

On the way to work this morning, there was a man mowing a lawn wearing a hat that looked just like the one that Timer wore in his classic "Hanker for a Hunk of Cheese." The hat was enormous! Conical! Flappy! It was magical and it made me happy. I sang about wagon wheels all day.

Just in Case

Just in Case

Homeless currency

hobo emergency bags

roving bums paid off

I have several bags of cans in my trunk. I keep them there in case I am attacked by roving bands of errant hobos. I figure I can buy my way out of a kidnapping, some sort of bum gang beat in, or a sad clown hobo sex scandal. I don't know why I would be involved in a sad clown hobo sex scandal, but I got payment in aluminum. Just in case.

Do You Know the Muffin Man?

Do You Know the Muffin Man?

He pumps around track

All sinew that needs slow cook

to make flavor pop

There's an older dude that walks around the park across the street from my work everyday at a furious pace. He sometimes walks with hand weights pumping his biceps, but he always walks without a shirt. Normally I would say older dude, put thy shirt back on (See: The Old and the Shirtless) but this guy has earned the right to show off his pectorals in the late summer heat. The man is nothing but muscle and sinewy goodness. One day I asked my co-worker, "Does this guy have a name?" She answered, "I call him muffin." Oh yes, I know the muffin man.

Nicolas Cage

Nicolas Cage

His dopey horse face

holds two ice blue marble eyes

that I wish to smash

What's with Nicolas Cage anyway? He's been in some great things, things that I truly love like Raising Arizona and Con Air (yes, I like Con Air), but then most of the rest of the time I just wish to slap his face and tell him to snap out of it. No, no more strange mini toupees Nicolas, just follow Bruce Willis's example and cut that shite off. Quit trying to grow out what you have because it doesn't work; long and stringy isn't sexy. Plus with your face it looks like a mane.

Wake up Mummy

Wake Up Mummy

I would stand, silent

at the edge of her still bed

willing her awake

When I was little and had a bad dream or wet the bed, I would go into my parents bedroom and stand at the edge of the bed on my mother's side. I really wanted her to wake up, but I didn't want to disturb her. So I just stood there, this quiet little 4-year-old kid, willing her awake. Can you imagine being a parent waking up to that? My mother must have thought I was completely insane. I bet she was really glad that I didn't have a predilection towards sharp objects or sociopathic behavior.

The Mortification

The Mortification

Giving birth groaning

No regular bathroom sounds

Then, she belched. Two times.

In the bathroom at work, I heard a woman in the next stall groaning. I thought, well, she's really having a hard time passing that poo. Then the groaning got a bit more intense and I felt really uncomfortable, because it sounded less like the grunting associated with pinching a loaf and far more like sexy sex moans. On a toilet. At work. But then the unseen groaner kicked it up a notch by belching. I was mortified! How dare she eructate behind a closed door inside a stall where one should only get rid of liquid and solid waste! Why the nerve! I was really hoping that the moaner would come out of the stall before I left the bathroom so I would know her identity, but she was still groaning when I left. On a toilet. At work.

Date Talk

Date Talk

The grenade penis

Seen uncircumcised member?

Seinfeld episodes

We talked about a grenade penis. Not a penis that explodes, but a penis that is shaped like a grenade. Then we talked about circumcised and uncircumcised penises. He had never seen an uncircumcised one, I have. He asked if it looked like it had a hood. I said sort of. We talked about Seinfeld episodes, the one where Jimmy likes Elaine, and the one where George does everything opposite of what he normally does. This was a fun date.

Quoth the Raven

Quoth the Raven

Perched atop my cube
a raven talks birdie trash
making fowl threats

The raven has a talk bubble that says, "Tippi Hedren says 'hi'." He is missing an eye. He is my friend.

Boy Number 47

Boy Number 47

The Wizard is here!

with his circumcision rock

Hope you are not last

Tonight on the carpool ride home I laughed until I cried, and it was because of the story of the wizard and his semi-sharp circumcision rock. Apparently in some far off country, in some even more remote village, the boys are circumcised by the elderly circumcision wizard who only makes his rounds once a month. All the little boys have to be taken care of in some sort of macabre Ford factory assembly line fashion, stretching their little penises across a flat rock so the wizard can get a good whack. The carpool driver said she saw this story years ago but the vision of all those poor little boys stretching their penises across the rock still haunts her to this day. I can only imagine the horror of being boy number 47, waiting as the wizard got closer. And ever. More. Tired.

Fuck Off Sunday

Fuck Off Sunday

Yes! Fuck off Sunday!

A day to recuperate

from yellow jacket

Yesterday I told you I went to the state fair. I saw Big Al the 13-foot Alligator. I also pet a smaller alligator/crocodile type reptile, a lizard and a small snake. And, AND I had my picture taken with a big fatty fat boa constrictor around my shoulder. I have no fear of these types of creatures, however when a yellow jacket threatened me and my food I screamed like a girl. Hopefully when aliens invade and take over the earth they won't be in the form of hyper-sentient yellow jackets because I will useless. And screaming.

Going to Gator Heaven

Going to Gator Heaven

Big Al, I love you

I am plotting your escape

to gator heaven

I went to the state fair today, and there was an exhibit called Big Al, the 13-foot alligator. It cost one American dollar to see him. When you rounded the corner, you could see big Al inside his trailer, one side was water, the other dry. But it was so small for Al and his enormousness; I can't imagine how bored and lonely Big Al must be. Does he ever get outside? Does he just stay in the trailer all the time? I am plotting Big Al's escape. Al must be free. I think he would do well in a southern state where he would have hillbillies to snack upon, and swampy waters to troll about it. I think all I need is some duct tape, six large men, some rope, an alligator dolly, and some chicken meat. I think it can be done. Al buddy, you're going to gator heaven.

Scene from Downtown

Scene from Downtown

Gingerly, she brushed

smutch from his brow, lingering

tattoos left behind

I saw a couple on a street corner downtown, the girl was brushing something off her beloved's brow. I'm not sure how she saw what needed to be brushed away because he had tatts all over his face. I don't begrudge a person's need to decorate their body, but if you have tattoos anywhere on your neck or above, you have to be a) circus folk, b) a criminal, or c) pretty damn hardcore. I know sleeves have become completely commonplace, but the face tattoo is reserved for the Maori people. Or Mike Tyson. Or Peter Dinklage, if he so chooses.

Jeff, the Hot Pharmacist

Jeff, the Hot Pharmacist

O! Hot pharmacist!

Cure my ailments with tinctures

of love and crazed sex

My pharmacist at Fred Meyers is hot. Super hot. But I think it would be some sort of infraction if I said, "Hey Jeff, you're really hot." How do I get past that? Is there some sort of time out I can call? TIME OUT! "Uh yes Jeff, you are just my type with your tallness and your brown eyes and your beautiful hands, can we perhaps have extremely zealous monkey sex sometime soon?" TIME IN! "Uh no sir, I have not taken that medication before, what are its side effects?"

Dirty Juanita

Dirty Juanita

From the cupboard, she calls

says "Let me nourish your soul...

give you a fat ass..."

I have a slight addiction to Juanita's Tortilla chips. Have you had them? Then you know. They are the heroin of the tortilla world, an opiate analgesic made with corn and lard and salt. Yes my darling Juanita, I hear you calling. I have been on a diet for two months, but you have made me forget all about it. I will drive to the store to buy your festively-colored bag of maize love even though I know our relationship is doomed. I will bring you into my house again and again, even though the next day I feel disgusted with myself, ashamed, sick to my stomach. I will hate myself tomorrow for devouring your oily crunchy goodness, but tonight Juanita, you are mine.

Carey Grant Pants

Carey Grant Pants

His pants reached for sky

The zipper a yardstick long

Pockets holding past

An old man walked in front of the carpool at the crosswalk looking rather dapper in his suit and hat, but his pants were so very high, as was the style of long ago. He was either wearing very old pants or having them built that way today by a very understanding tailor. I vote for wearing very old pants that hold memories of dancing with his lovely wife. Who is now a cantankerous old bitch.

Hobos from the Future

Hobos from the Future

Send the bindle first

Clothes and rations then ready

for future hobo

Tonight's carpool discussion was about the evils of fast food, how a car accident derailed a camping trip, and hobos from the future. I thought the bindle should be sent back through time first because of possible hobo/hobo clothes DNA fusion. It only seems logical then to send the bindle through first, providing goods and clothing for the arrival of said hobo from the future. I'm not sure why hobos from the future are traveling back to the present time, but when you see a bindle magically appear next to you at the bus stop, you'll know they're coming.

A New Flag

A New Flag

I rescind the flag

It's not me, it's you. It's YOU.

Me: fairly normal

A while back I told you I was flying my W flag, because that's what people have always called me: weird. Well, I just hit my limit with that. I'm not weird. I am fairly normal. I am wicked smart, with a lottery hopper in my head full of ideas that I blurt out sometimes. I am ridiculously funny. I daydream a lot and expend a lot of energy thinking about things. I can be quiet, I can be talky. I am stupid fresh. If you don't know how to deal with me, then it's your problem. I am now retiring the W flag, and flying the Super-pretty-beautiful-awesome-smarty-smart flag. Because that's what I am.

Action Elders

Action Elders

Waxy, plastic skin

perfect teeth spit crazy lines

age hidden with dye

I saw the Expendables 2 tonight, and it was glorious! They did this second one way more tongue in cheek and it was great, but the main actors look so damn... bizarre. You can't tell how old they are because they are all dyed and surgeried and have bright shiny new teeth, but they somehow look off. Like maybe they are copies of themselves, but copies that have somehow been corrupted. Sylvester Stallone is 66, Arnold Schwarzenegger is 65, and Chuck Norris is 72! The copies are just plain old. And while Jean-Claude Van Damme is only 51, he looks crazy weird, like he has severe allergies and his eyes are in a permanent stage of pouf. It didn't matter though, because I paid full price like a sucker to see these elders shoot the shit out of things and by God, I loved every minute of the movie.

The Fine-Ass Idiot

The Fine-Ass Idiot

She tottered in heels

strange wobble walk, unbending knees

I'm fine in flip-flops

I saw a young lady downtown wearing a short black dress and the highest heels I have ever seen. She looked nice, but she couldn't walk in those heels to save her life. She wasn't bending her knees and just kind of listing back and forth, moving each leg ever so slowly forward, inch by inch. Her boyfriend was being rather accommodating and walking very slowly, stopping and waiting, then walking slowly again. Look, if I could, I would wear the most spectacular heels known to man, but my feet might as well be ripped up and used for dish rags; they are useless, they are show feet. I just find the loveliest sandals I can and play up the rock star toes. No way in hell am I going to weeble wobble my way down the street looking like a fine-ass idiot.

The Lure of the Goat

The Lure of the Goat

The goat lured me in
The heat melted my marrow
Next stop: kiddie pool

They had an appreciation barbeque for the people at my place of work today at the park across the street. The invitation email showed a picture of a goat, promising a ruminent for perusing and petting. When I got over there it was so incredibly hot outside that it was all I could do to get through the line and get some food. I didn't have the heat stamina to search for the goat. How often do you get to see a goat? That's right, not very often, unless you are a goat farmer. I would have rubbed his ears, patted him on his goat head and said, "Good job goatie! Your DNA hasn't faltered in this heat, you're still holding the shape of a goat." Now I have to continue on goatless for who knows how long.

Jack Dooty

Jack Dooty

Dear gentle readers

Haiku-wise, I have jack shit

Excuse this faux pas

Usually an idea will strike, something I saw earlier in the day or something said will spark a lovely haiku and its magical explanation, but tonight I got jack dooty. My most humble and heart felt apologies, especially after today when some friends spoke so highly of my blog. I am a monster, don't look at me.

Just Another Day at Work

Just Another Day at Work

Heard a child-like voice

Billy Barty on bath salts?

Dinklage, kicked in nads!

I heard what I thought was someone imitating a little kid's voice, and I thought, "Man, what if it's Billy Barty on bath salts?!!" A) AWESOME, and B) The zombie implications would have been two fold since Billy Barty is dead, and bath salts apparently can cause the zombie-like behavior of eating other people's faces. Then I thought, "Wait, what if it's my one true dwarf love Peter Dinklage and he's been kicked in the nads!?? I must rescue him and disentangle him from the internet cords that surely keep him captive... at my place of work!" I didn't find Peter, or Billy. The rest of the day was boring.

Pajamas? Or Stroke?

Pajamas? Or Stroke?

He rode down the street

wearing shiny patchwork shorts

but a normal shirt

Again, I stress I am never surprised by what humans wear in this city, but I am often amazed. I saw a dude on a bicycle tonight, wearing a regular short-sleeved button up shirt, but his shorts were made of all sorts of differently colored pieces of shiny fabric with Chinese characters. My mother surmised that he cut his pajamas bottoms off. I surmise that his brain connectivity was cut off.

Room for Rent—Free Wax

Room for Rent—Free Wax

Spiders are our friends

They also like ear canals

as a cheap rental

A woman went to the emergency room because she had an itching on the left side of her head that would not go away. The doctors took a look in her ear and found a precious spider living there. It was LIVING in her head. I love spiders, love them; I call them friend and put them outside when I find them living in my house, but living in my head? I don't know how I would deal with that one. The doctors flushed the spider out of the woman's ear with saline, but the article doesn't say whether or not the spider was killed in the process. I hope the spider got out alive and is now living in some elderly woman's beehive.

Secret Love

Secret Love

My secret chain love

you divide your time between

cities all over

I have a secret love of chain restaurants. I hardly ever get to go because I don't want to admit that I like Appleby's. Or Red Robin. Or the Sizzler. God how I love the Sizzler, with their Malibu chicken and all-you-can-eat shrimp. Oh man, I think I would punch someone in the face right now if it would get me some of those breaded Sizzler shrimps. This is maybe another reason I shouldn't tell people of my secret chain love, because I might threaten Sizzler shrimp violence.

Marvin Hamlisch

Marvin Hamlisch

Wanted fruit monthly

I think it was for your mom

You weren't very nice

A thousand years ago I worked for Harry and David for a Christmas season as a customer service human. I took orders over the phone from people all over the country for gift towers and fruit baskets. One of the people that I talked to was Marvin Hamlisch. He wasn't very pleasant during the first part of the call, but by the end he wasn't so bad. And now he's dead.

Human VS. Honda

Human VS. Honda

I am bruised, broken

In cage match with my Honda

I am the loser

Over the past week or so, my car has kicked my ass. Other people's cars have kicked my ass. I have not done so well with automobiles in general in the past few days. Earlier in the week I was parked on a bit of an incline and my door slammed into my shoulder, giving me a lovely goose egg with a fairy punch on top. I don't know what the hell a fairy punch is, but it sounded good and if you saw my shoulder you would say, "Holy crap, it looks like a fairy punched you." Then I went to lunch with a friend and when I got into her car I slammed my shin into the glove box. Why? I'm only 5'3", it's not like I have mile-long legs and it was a really tough gig to fit all of me into a regular-sized car. I'm unsure of what these run-ins with vehicles mean, but I know I can't take any more fairy punches. God damned fairies.

Tinkerbell Tattoo Duel

Tinkerbell Tattoo Duel

Dueling Tinkerbells
One flying on ham hock arm
One on obese leg

I had to pick up a prescription, and while I was in line, I noticed that two ladies up at the counter each had a Tinkerbell tattoo. One lady had enormous, corpulent upper arms, and Tinkerbell was flying out from behind her sleeveless green dress. The other lady was wearing shorts and Tinkerbell was buzzing in sideways on one of her fatty calves. What the hell? At the moment I realized they each had the same tattoo, I prayed they would get into some sort of fight at the counter so I could see the Tinkerbells duel. My prayer went unanswered however, and each of the Tinkerbell ladies left without smiting one another. Bummer.

The Migration

The Migration

Migrating tampon
You started in the third stall
Now in the second

There is a tampon in lovely yellow packaging that has been moving around to different spots in the ladies room at work. Today I moved it from the third stall to the second. I wanted to do my part.

My Heaven Husband(s)

My Heaven Husband(s)

When through heaven's gate
I'll marry William Shatner
when he's young and hot

I've decided that a) I'm going to heaven when I die, and b) when I get there I am going to marry William Shatner when he is a young man. This is heaven, so you get to do things like that. I am going to call him Willsy and he will help me paint my fingernails and tell me I look fantastic in a bathing suit and feed me figs. I am also going to marry Peter Dinklage, Ryan Gosling, Joaquin Phoenix before he went wack-a-doo, Tom Hardy, and of course, the fabled Hot Guy on the Bus. When I rode the number 19 all the time, I used to see this ridiculouly handsome fellow with laser green eyes. Well, his eyes were this amazing green, and they looked like he could shoot lasers from them. Which is a bonus, for a sci-fi nerd girl. So anyway, I say marry, but what I really mean is have a lovely relationship with, with little tension and lots of guffaws. I don't know if that's marriage or not, I guess it depends on the humans. And probably with that many dude humans in the mix, I should just get ready for more tension than guffaws

Old Lady Shortalls

Old Lady Shortalls

In shortalls, in stripes
It wobbled, old-person style
Like my dead grandma

I look forward to the day when what I wear no longer matters to me or to anybody else. I saw an old woman, at least I think it was an old woman, wearing shortalls with some sort of red and white-striped bodysuit underneath that only came down to her knees. She had a Dorothy Hamill do, so her snow-white hair looked like some sort of whipped cream topping on a Sundae made of crazy. She had bowed legs and she did that old person wobble in her Keds. Seriously, I am going all out when I get old. I am going to bedazzle the shit out of everything and let my hair do its thing in a crazy mass of curls. I will dress in costumes with capes every day if I feel like it and perhaps carry a stuffed koala around, which I will name Peter Tinklebottom. Old lady shortalls will have nothing on me.

The Jersey Kerfuffle

The Jersey Kerfuffle

She got in his face
She said, "Don't touch me again,"
Chagrinned, he looked down

There was a couple sitting next to me and my mother at the Jersey Boys, and I noticed the guy turned around and said something to the lady behind him more than once. I thought he was telling her to pipe down, which I am a huge proponent of doing, because she wouldn't shut her yapper. But at the beginning of the intermission, this lady came out of her seat and got right in this guy's face and said something to the effect of "You will NEVER never touch me again" and "You know what I'm talking about don't you?" I have no idea what brought this altercation on, and I still can't believe it happened; Practically everyone there was over the age of 60, and it was a matinee for Christ's sake! Needless to say I did not tell the woman behind me to stop crinkling her wrapper for fear she would throttle me at the end of the show. But I did give her the stink eye. A really big stink eye.

Purse Pal

Purse Pal

Symbiotic twin
One in every large satchel
will hand you a pen

My mom and I were at dinner tonight, and several times through out she dug through her purse to find something. I said, "We could get a discarded symbiotic twin and put it in your purse; it could hand you your pen or your glasses. You wouldn't have to dig through your bag." She looked at me blankly, which is her signal letting me know that she didn't quite catch what I said. I enunciated, "Symbiotic twin." She started laughing and said, "I thought you said symbiotic toilet." I think I am on to something though; I would call them "Purse Pals", and they could be like Cabbage Patch Kids, only they would be alive, and would require a bit of care. And of course they would have to have some sort of appendage so they could hand you stuff from the bottom of your purse. It wouldn't necessarily have to be and arm with a hand, it could just be a grasping nub. Just so long as it could hand you stuff.

The QFC Parking Lot

The QFC Parking Lot

He waited, shirtless
for the elderly white Run
with his Adidas

In the QFC parking lot, there was an older dude waiting against his car without a shirt; Lowrider was bumpin' on the stereo. This was mesmerizing enough, but then the elderly white Run came out of the store, complete with a donkey rope and big white Adidas. What was their relationship? Old man brothers? Old man lovers? I choose to believe that they were old man rappers on a picnic shopping trip. And old man lovers. Old man lover rappers. Old man lover rapper shoppers. Okay, I'll stop now.

The Arms of Madonna

The Arms of Madonna

I'm little, but strong
The guy said, "Madonna arms!"
Then I crushed his skull

Okay, so I didn't crush the guy's skull in real life, but in my head I did. I crushed it with my apparently crazy-muscled non-fat super-sinewy arms of steel that look like they belong to a weight-lifting 98-year old. What the hell? My arms do not looks like Madonna's! If they did I would shoot myself out of a cannon and into the nearest circus freakshow where I would bench press little people and write sad letters to Peter Dinklage in the hopes he would come to my circus and let me bench press him. Yes, my arms have muscle, yes, I am strong like ox, but my arms don't look weird. They don't! And why is it always men that have to say something? I have never ever had a woman say something about my arms. Stupid dumb-face men! Avert your gaze from my arms of super awesomenicity or be crushed by my mad biceps and triceps brachii! Ugh, I'm going to go work out now.

On Hiring a Sherpa

On Hiring a Sherpa

Must carry large things
Cannot smell like sour Yak milk
Informational

So I figure that when you hire a Sherpa to carry all your stuff around, you have to follow the above three rules. First of all, Mr. Sherpa has to be able to carry large things, or lots of little things, but he must know how to stack them so they are easy for him to carry and he won't be constantly dropping items. Second, it would be advisable that Mr. Sherpa did not smell like any form of yak or yak products—yak milk, yak butter, yak butt. Could you focus on your journey if Mr. Sherpa smelled like yak poop? No, no you could not. And lastly, Mr. Sherpa should be exceedingly polite and full of helpful information. He should say, "Yes sir," or, "No ma'am." "The hole in the ground where you pee is this way, Madam." "I believe that mountain goat is going to ram you in the testicles, sir." No one wants a Sherpa with a nasty disposition; most likely they won't want to carry your stuff anyway and will definitely let you know about it. Oh, and be sure to bring a few bags of Doritos along; once you gift a Sherpa with a bag of Doritos and they accept, they have to carry your stuff. And they owe you a couple of yaks. And their first born. If you don't want the first born, bring Fritos.

Fruit? Or Seafaring Transportation?

Fruit? Or Seafaring Transportation?

Is it...banana?

No, maybe it's a sailboat

I vote banana

My friend was wearing a polo shirt, and I thought the little embroidered emblem on it was a banana. It was actually a sailboat, but I'm going to continue thinking it was a banana, because that's more fun.

Big Mama Ain't Happy

Big Mama Ain't Happy

His head in her lap

On both knees, begging, pleading

She couldn't care less

This story was related to me by a friend, and I so wish I had been there to see this strange sight. A very, very large woman was sitting on a bus bench in a polka-dotted dress. There was a man on both knees in front of her; he had his head on her knee, and every so often he would lift his head and say something to her, and then put his head back on her knee. She never looked at him. What did he do? WHAT DID HE DO? Did he not iron her large and tent-like dresses to her satisfaction? Did he swat her cat Mr. Tibbs because he ate his corned beef? Did he get rid of her Limited Edition Peter Dinklage Commemorative Plate with 24k edging? It is things like this that keep me up at night postulating myriad hypotheses. And yes, I wrote everything here just so I could further write "postulating myriad hypotheses."

The Ass Crisis

The Ass Crisis

My ass: disappeared

Such a cruel irony

for the curvy girl

What the hell? I have always, always, always been curvy. When curvy was not in, I was curvy. People said, "Oh you're curvy" but I knew they meant something not so polite. Men said, "Oh I like a woman with curves," like I was some exotic creature. Now I've lost a few pounds and my ass has disappeared, my curves have evened out. Well I tell you I won't stand for it. I am going into ass overdrive. I will reclaim my curves. I will design gluteal exercises that use small compliant children as weights. I will eat large quantities of tortilla chips. I will lunge my way to ass greatness! But for now, I think I'll start with the tortilla chips. I still have to figure where to get small compliant children.

I Might Rather Be Napping

I Might Rather Be Napping

Three hours of Batman
Is the cray-cray Christian Bale
worth more than napping?

Dear God, I hope so. Three hours of Batman? Three? Really? Why? I just don't know if I can sit that long. Waiting for Tom Hardy to take off his respirator thingie and reveal those pretty pouty lips. Reveal them Tom Hardy, reveal them to me.

What a Crock

What a Crock

Double hue Croc crock
How did wife let this happen?
I would have slapped him

The other morning at the Starbucks, I saw a man wearing two different-colored Crocs. Honestly, I don't know where to begin with this. First of all, Crocs. Second, two different colors, green and maroon. Third, his wife or significant other was with him; how did she let this happen? Why didn't she say "NO!" and slap the chocolate bunnies out of him? And yes, you can assign what ever meaning you want to chocolate bunnies. He was a normal sort of human, nothing really remarkable about him, except when you got to his feet and you saw this affront happening in foam resin. Okay, I just went to the Crocs site and they have a shoe called the "Jackson Pollock Studio Clog." THE JACKSON POLLOCK STUDIO CLOG. I think I just developed an aneurism reading that. I need to go lie down.

SPLES

SPLES

Lusty old codger
licked his lips as I went by
my panties shimmered

Don't you wish there was no explanation for this? What would you come up with if you had to write one? Would I be walking around in just my drawers? Where would I be? Why is the old codger scoping my shit? (God that made me guffaw typing that.) All right, so here it is. I went to Fred Meyers on lunch, I found some shimmery underwear, I carried them around the store with me as I looked at everything else. As I came around a corner in the makeup aisles, I saw an old dude that had a lustful look on his face. He licked his lips and looked wantonly at the panties I had in my hand. I didn't know what to do. Should I have said, "Hey Gramps, I notice you admiring my shimmery panties, would you like to touch them? How do you think Grandma would feel about that?" Should I have smacked him with some nearby lip balm? Or maybe he just needed to use some of that nearby lip balm, maybe he wasn't being lustful at all and just had a dry mouth. And Lustful Eye Syndrome. Shimmery Panty Lustful Eye Syndrome. He had SPLES. Totally had the SPLES.

The Stealth Pajama Con

The Stealth Pajama Con

O! Pajama dress

Cheating general public

Willful fabric lie

I have this super yummy dress that is made of simple t-shirt fabric, and when I wear it, it feels like I am wearing pajamas. So. Awesome. I feel though that I am cheating the general public somehow because I get to wear this thing out and about and no one is the wiser. Now I want to buy another one in a different color, then I'll have two times the sleepy-time fabric goodness during the daytime hours. Yes, wearing stealth pajamas is a very, very good idea.

Late for the Moth Dance

Late for the Moth Dance

He fluttered, captive

too dumb to know it was glass

Late for the moth dance

Tonight at dinner, a poor giant moth kept banging into the glass over and over, trying desperately to get outside so he could make the moth dance in time to dance with the moth maidens. I told my date, "I have to rescue that moth." He said, "Why don't you go to the restroom and I'll rescue the moth while you're in there." I knew this was code for mashing poor Fred (such a regal moth name) into oblivion and telling me that he gave him to a good family on a large farm with lots of room to run. After several iterations of this conversation, I finally convinced my date that it was okay to rescue Fred, and he agreed to let me rescue him, most likely so he didn't have to hear about it anymore. I am happy to report that Fred made it to the dance, but then promptly expired because moths only live like, two weeks, tops.

The Death of the Polo Man and His Horse

The Death of the Polo Man and His Horse

Polo men's numbers

reduced by slippery hands

much cursing involved

I have this set of eight glasses that have alternating gilded Arabesque polo men and horses, and because I am the only apartment in my complex without a dishwasher, they are now a set of seven. I am so very careful when I wash dishes, but I guess I must come to terms with the fact that not everything will survive. But why did it have to be my pretty-beautiful-awesome polo man and his horse? Why couldn't it be a crappy cat food plate from Good Will? Or a regular boring glass with no figures? Even my Kermit the Frog glass I would have been more okay with. Now I will have a moment of silence for polo man and his horse, but only after I say few more cursing words. Shit shit shit.

Karaoke at the Twilight Room

Karaoke at the Twilight Room

I'm solid! The champ!

RJ said so anyway

Bonnie rocked swim trunks

Last night I went out to dinner with friends for my birthday, and then out to karaoke at a dive-y bar called the Twilight Room. This place was filled with amazing characters and as my friend likes to say, "dazzling freaks". There was a little mentally-challenged man name Quincy that was dressed in a dapper manner and had a certain way of barking out songs. There was Bonnie who apparently came to the karaoke bar after having a swim day because she seemed to be wearing a swim skirt; she also liked to "Woooooo" a lot. And then there was RJ. Smallish, cigarrettish, very drunkish RJ, whom at one point kissed my hand and wished me a happy birthday, and then later came up to me and told me that I was "Solid!" and "The Champ!" because of my singing. Could I have asked for a better b-day celebration? No, not really. I had a blast, interacting with dazzling freaks, singing my face off and having an awesome night with good friends. I may win the lottery today, that's the only way it could get better.

PS - I backdated this, I didn't get home until 2:15am. Because I'M THE CHAMP!

The Cartoon Character Pie Vapor Thing

The Cartoon Character Pie Vapor Thing

I drift behind him,
cartoon wafting on pie fumes
He's bowlegged though

There's a man at my work that I always see in the very long and narrow hallway--we joke that we have the same schedule when we pass each other by. He wears Polo cologne, and if I happen to be behind him, I just drift along, feet and body aloft like some cartoon character smelling yummy pie vapors. When I was 14 there was a 17-year-old boy that lived next door to me I thought was the bee's knees; he wore Polo and I got hooked. Today it doesn't matter if the man wearing my favorite cologne is an unsightly poo poo face, he still smells like a dream to me. But I cannot abide the bowed legs, no matter how much Polo you throw on them.

Wilford Brimley

Wilford Brimley

Diabetes prone

Exchanges sex for cookies

Likes Oreos best

I shouldn't have to explain this one. You know it's true.

Rodan

Rodan

Emit sonic boom

Beautiful, sinister bird

Mothra is your friend

Who doesn't love a gigantic, beautiful, sinister pterosaur? With spikes on its chest? That can emit a sonic boom? And has a big old part moth, part butterfly as a home skillet? That's right, nobody.

Dinklage Love

Dinklage Love

Tiny hot love dwarf
I would birth your wee babies
Put them in doll cribs

Is it wrong that I've said this? No, because Peter Dinklage is hot. Tiny hot. Li'l hot. Dwarf hot. Just plain old regular dude hot. Plus I figure giving birth to such tiny babies wouldn't be nearly as hard as birthing a regular-sized human child. Less Ground Zero effect.

Don't Poke the Tiniest Bear

Don't Poke the Tiniest Bear

Tiny globes of rage

Douchebaggery causes flare

Come close, I'll stab you

Have you ever had a person take advantage of your kindness because you are a kind person and you like to be kind to people? I took another person's work because they asked, and then when I didn't do it fast enough, they hounded me every day. So I said, "How about I give it back to you and you can finish it?" I was ready for a fight, but all I got was, "Okay, thanks." That was on Friday. Today that same person asked me to take the work back because they were sick and they hadn't had a chance to do anything on it yet. Well boo fucking hoo hoo you puny jerkface. You hound me every day, but yet don't have a chance to get to it? Stand back because the tiniest bear has a shiv and she's not afraid to dance with you in the yard. Do your own work. Jackass.