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.