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.

Spendthrift

Spendthrift

Debtor's prison looms

but I'll be the best dressed there

bedizened and broke

I love shopping. Love it. LOVE IT. But I am not a crazy person. I understand that when you purchase things, money will come out of your bank account, and then you'll have less of it to buy other things. Like a place to live. How awesome would it be if you didn't have to worry about such trivialities? If I had a never-ending supply of money, oh the things I could buy! I would purchase the finest white horse and have a horn surgically grafted to his head, making my own unicorn. I would hire Mel Gibson to make sandwiches for me and use the term "sugar tits" at least five times a day in my presence. I would sleep on a bed of baby ducks. But for now, I guess I better reel it back in so I can pay rent and eat a Wendy's salad every now and then.

The Jackass on the Phone

The Jackass on the Phone

Okay, okay, Jeff

Jeff Jeff Jeff Jeff Jeff okay

Jeff, listen buddy

I was sitting at an outside table for dinner tonight when possibly the loudest and most coarse individual I have ever had the pleasure of hearing came outside to talk on his phone. I am not sure if he was raised at the airport by lackadaisical pilots or perhaps his ear canals were stuffed with composting vegetable matter, but he seemed to be completely unaware that a) he was a human capable of talking at a normal decibel level, b) he was in human surroundings, c) there were other humans nearby. From the one side of the conversation that I could hear it seemed his friend Jeff had an auditory impediment as well. Where do these people come from? And why were they attempting to talk to one another on the phone when they are clearly so ill suited for the task? At that point I wished I had studied Karate so I could have walked up and kicked loud man's face off. I know, it sounds terrible, but I would have been lauded. Lauded people!

Wishmaster

Wishmaster

Evil wicked Djinn

A voice like whiskey and smoke

Word your wish wisely

Did you ever see the Wishmaster movies? Oh I really liked them; they were kind of campy, and the guy who played the genie, or Djinn, was just plain unctuous. He would grant people wishes, but they would always backfire if they weren't worded just so. I just watched a clip of Wishmaster 2 and I can't even begin to list the ways in which I love it. Damn it, now I am going to have to buy these movies. Holy crap I can get them both on Amazon for $5.18! Done. DONE.

The Murder on SE International Way

The Murder on SE International Way

A murder of crows

eagerly waiting outside

I looked for Tippi

Tonight after work I headed to the gym, and after 7pm or so the long, winding road there can be quite deserted. As I drove I saw one or two big fat black crows. Then one or two more hopping about and flying past my car. Then I came upon the murder. They were all gathered in a meeting on a flat grassy area; I am quite positive they were discussing whether or not to attack the humans and destroy their civilization in this caucus. I imagine some of the discussion went like this:

Larry: These bums have got to go! Kill 'em all I say!

Allen: Oh come on Larry, you always want to kill all the humans. We have enough to talk about here today without going into that rant again.

Dennis J.: Caw!

Dennis F.: Shut up Dennis!

The Kitten Ranch

The Kitten Ranch

Daydreams of ranching

fuzz kittens all in bow ties

Ting ting... din-din time!

Today I was having trouble concentrating at work because I was daydreaming about owning a kitten ranch. People would come from all over to dude on my ranch, where the hardest part of the job would be getting them all into bow ties for the formal din-din on Friday. Of course Saturday would be a picnic dinner with BBQ and pork and beans and fish heads. Afterwards would be play time with furry mice and feather toys and the laser beam pointers. Then everyone would purr their way into a blissful ball of sleeping fuzz, hundreds of little kitten heads snoozing away. Ahhh. I'm gonna make a mint.

The Frankenstein Bag

The Frankenstein Bag

A canvas bag kept

Boris Karloff's Frankenstein

peers out from one side

I have had a canvas bag with the face of Frankenstein on it since I was 8 years old. I love my Frankie bag. I guess this kind of confirms that I have been weird forever. I don't care, weird is good. Weird is awesome. Well, as long as it's not like I'm going to leave this thorny stem without a bloom on your car weird (this happened to me), or eating pancake sandwiches weird (okay, forgiven), or pitching a cat like a dwarf (*sigh* I did this, but only one time), but just the kind of weird that people think is funny, or endearing, or just old plain puzzling. That kind of weird is good. That kind of weird deserves a flag, with a big old "W" on it. I'm flying the "W" flag people. I'm sitting in my front yard, flying my flag and wearing a Frankenstein bag.

Sexy Hobo

Sexy Hobo

My sweater with holes

Fallen down a cliff side holes

Still projects sexy

I put on a sweater today that had holes in it. Holes in the arm pits. What the hell was I thinking? I was thinking, "I am so sexy, I can pull off this whole I look like I just fell down a mountain ravine in this sweater thing and no one will think I look like a hobo named Fry Pan Lonnie." No, really I was just thinking, "Ooh a black sweater, this will look nice over this pink top with black hearts. Ooh, it has holes in the arm pits. Hmm, I don't have another little black sweater... Ooh a black sweater, this will look nice over this pink top with black hearts." Sexy. Pshaw.

The Woolen Cap of Summer

The Woolen Cap of Summer

My hair, though pretty

is a built-in woolen cap

on hot summer days

As I sit here in my apartment, I am sweltering, even though my apartment remains very cool in the summer. It is because I have my own built-in knit cap—my hair. Some days I fantasize about shearing it all off, much like Britney during her super cray-cray time. I could cut hours out of my weekly routine. I could toss my many products, and give up all the burns on my fingers from the flat iron. It would feel so amazingly... breezy. But you know I won't cut it off. It's part of what makes me me. It makes women scowl and men stare, it makes hair stylists go a little nutty and give me "Hollywood hair" by the end of each appointment. So I'll just continue to sit here and swelter. But I will look soooo good while doing it.

Vulture Eye in the Food Court

Vulture Eye in the Food Court

His blind white eye stared

He ate his food court food while

his other eye viewed me

I went to J C Penney today and then walked through the rest of the mall, which I never do. It was filled with goofy teenagers, salesmen hawking their wares, and the man from Poe's Tell Tale Heart. This is why I do not walk through the mall. I am an easy mark for the salesmen; I was literally grabbed by two of them and asked by one how old I was. Why do men keep asking me this? Do I give off some sort of old-woman vibe? Then I made my way past the food court and saw the dude from the Poe story. Why was his eye white? Could it see? Was it really an egg? And the goofy teens, well, they were just there being an annoyance. Remind me not to walk through the mall again.

The Circus has Come to Town

The Circus has Come to Town

Black and white big top

swaying gently, right, left, right

No admission charged

As I drove home tonight from work I spotted the most amazing dress on a woman; it was a shift with enormous black and white vertical stripes. As she walked the dress lolled back and forth, a plump little big top ambling about town. I wonder do people really look in the mirror before they leave the house? I'm positive if she had she might have changed her dress. Or started charging to see what was under the tent.

IHOP Drag Queen

IHOP Drag Queen

Well over six feet

Brett Sommers with testicles

Know she wasn't blind

I ate pancakes on the Fourth of July as an homage to this nation's greatness, beautiful delicious patriotic pancakes. While waiting for the cakes of magic to be delivered to my table, a rather large lady came in. A rather large blind lady. That was really a man. You know, I cannot complain one bit about my life; I was born into the right body. I may curse it at times for having worthless feet and grotesque thighs, but I know I am a woman and I like being one. What if you were born with the wrong junk? How awful would that be? Top it all off with being blind and that could make you a really miserable human. I think that Blind Man Brett Sommers wasn't really blind at all though, but just a really poorly-dressed drag queen that wanted scads of attention. She didn't really need the hostess to hold her by the hand and lead her in. She didn't really need the waitress to explain the items on the menu. That cane? An accessory! The big dark glasses? Theatrics! The skirt? Former drapes! I am so going to hell.

Ginger Rogers a la Mode

Ginger Rogers a la Mode

She sat, wheel-chair bound

I stared, a chubby teen girl

too shy to say hi

When I was a teenager, I saw Ginger Rogers in the Baskin Robbins in Medford. I wanted to meet her so badly! But I was way too scared to walk up to this dancing legend and say hello. And yes, I was chubby. Such a sad word. That strange in-between place before fat but after regular size. I also had brillo pad hair and and a really big backside. Ah the teen years were so good to me.

The Plugged-in Situation with Sandra

The Plugged-in Situation with Sandra

Plugged in? Or unplugged?

She said, "If I'm still talking,

you can't pull the plug."

I was talking with my mother the other night about whether or not I am to leave her plugged in if she is ever in a vegetative state. She said "If I am still able to talk you can't pull the plug." To which I said, "Go ahead doctor I think it's time. STOP TALKING MOTHER. No go ahead doctor, we need to let her go." Still being able to talk a pretty good indicator as to whether or not you are in a vegetative state. Smart thinkin' Ma, smart thinkin'.

A Gorey Childhood

A Gorey Childhood

For three years running,

teachers gave me Rumpelstiltskin

The Gorey version

In elementary school, the teachers would give us books at Christmas time, presumably to match our interests or our personalities. For three years straight, I received the fairy tale Rumpelstiltskin, illustrated by Edward Gorey. Apparently I have always been an odd human, even at eight-years-old. I had no idea who Gorey was at the time, but I did love the illustrations. He is known for writing macabre little stories and drawing creepy little characters, and cartooning the well-known beginning to Masterpiece Theatre's Mystery! I know I wasn't that weird. Just quiet. Observant. Okay, okay, fairy tales full of imprisonment, death threats and little men stamping their feet right through the floor is right up my alley. I still have a copy of the book.

Stepford Dating

Stepford Dating

No one singular

Bearded, balding, five feet ten

Avoiding drama

I am doing the online dating thing, and it seems to me that every man out there in a certain age range is 5' 10", balding, and has a goatee. They've all gotten out of a long-term relationship and they've gone to pot because they haven't had to worry about it in a long time. They fly the old man flag (see The Old Man Flag) by wearing dad jeans and old-man tennis shoes. Either all that or they're terribly spindly. Look, I don't mind it if if you're not so much on the big side, but I don't want the notion that I could bench press you if I gave it a shot. And everybody, and I mean everybody, says they don't want drama. What the hell does that mean? What if I came to a date wearing a cape and some sort of viking helmet? Now that would be drama. Can you really say you wouldn't want that?