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Sunday, September 21, 2008
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Nasty decrepit ogre
Fraught with Marlboro reds and Kmart specials
Kills plant life as she shuffles past innocent objects of life.
Her cracked and stained yellow lips threaten me for fun.
Her sagging miserable floppy ass eats her sweatpants and
I try my best not imagine what that thing looks like uncovered.
I wonder if she has ever had a wax job on that upper lip
Black as the mold that grows on my bathroom ceiling
When she displays her flawed characteristic disorder on my doorstep
I often look past her and imagine her floating facedown
in the (sess)pool that takes up the courtyard. It makes me grin uncontrollably.
Her tongue lashes out and catches a fly midflight.
She glares at me, unamused. Her swollen cankles, unamused. Her unbraziered appendages were definitely not amused. I was causing her grief by simply existing
Which made me wonder how I can exist at a greater intensity to make a blood vessel burst. It didn’t seem like a complicated plan.
I slowly closed the door and listened to her protest.
Turning the latch severed her voice and I listened hard for her to take her muffled grumbling elsewhere. It faded to a light nag and carried me away to thank-god-that’s-not-me Land...
Fraught with Marlboro reds and Kmart specials
Kills plant life as she shuffles past innocent objects of life.
Her cracked and stained yellow lips threaten me for fun.
Her sagging miserable floppy ass eats her sweatpants and
I try my best not imagine what that thing looks like uncovered.
I wonder if she has ever had a wax job on that upper lip
Black as the mold that grows on my bathroom ceiling
When she displays her flawed characteristic disorder on my doorstep
I often look past her and imagine her floating facedown
in the (sess)pool that takes up the courtyard. It makes me grin uncontrollably.
Her tongue lashes out and catches a fly midflight.
She glares at me, unamused. Her swollen cankles, unamused. Her unbraziered appendages were definitely not amused. I was causing her grief by simply existing
Which made me wonder how I can exist at a greater intensity to make a blood vessel burst. It didn’t seem like a complicated plan.
I slowly closed the door and listened to her protest.
Turning the latch severed her voice and I listened hard for her to take her muffled grumbling elsewhere. It faded to a light nag and carried me away to thank-god-that’s-not-me Land...
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Happy Birthday Punk
**This is a true story. However the names and events have been altered and exaggerated to make the actual incidents more appealing.
So my dear friend’s child was having a Friday evening birthday party at her house and our presence was requested (although we would improve the party’s attendance by five) for this special event. I can hardly turn down a martini or two and happily obliged, children in tow. Might I add I was coming off a particularly intense day at work and couldn’t wait to unwind.
We arrived a half hour late and the party was well under way. I was amazed at how quiet it was. Judy told me it would be busy.
“They’re all upstairs,” she motioned, passing me a handy dandy cocktail. As I made my ascent, I started hearing the surefire steady sounds of kids taking over the world. I should mention to you that this house is pretty mammoth in all aspects of its 1914 design: Tall ceilings, wide rooms, many thigh burning stairs. The third floor is fraught with kids equipment; a trampoline, a rock climbing wall, a tire swing and, of course, the dreaded gym class rope that reaches sky high.
By the time I reached the top floor I watched, with much amusement, the clashing personalities of about 20 eight year olds escalate to a dynamic, however everlasting, crescendo and was feeling just as tense after about five seconds of making an appearance. I surveyed the huge top floor space. There were a lot of kids here.
Which is a complete understatement. The scene was closer in resemblance to that of a sinking ship filled with panicky rats. I have never seen so many kids so hopped up on sugar, scaling each other all at once. It would have been interesting to take a collective blood sugar level just for kicks. If anything, my guess was that we could have powered this monster of a house for at least a year.
I noticed some tension building around the rope climbing activity. I gracefully set my chilled martini out of harms way and proceeded to ask the boys to settle down because someone would get hurt (I was sure of this, as all parents are and felt justified in stating the matter of fact).
They flat out ignored me. No eye contact, no “uh-huh”, “yeah”, or even a “whatever lady”. So I tried again, raising my voice a bit. I cleared it first and punctiliously stated:
“If you don’t settle down, someone is going to get hurt.” I added “and nobody wants to take a trip to the emergency room on Eli’s birthday.” My voice trailed off. My vernacular drowned in the sea of shrilled screaming and young testosterone. I, too was sinking in this very ship and began to feel my authority shrink back as it was severely compromised. I then decided to school them through action, since they were far too stimulated to embrace anything other than selective hearing. I marched forward and shook each of them free of the rope and proceeded to utilize the extra 16 inches of height I had to my advantage. I began tying the rope in a large knot, high above my head, as far as I could reach. It was a pathetic attempt. I was telling them why I was doing it as I was doing it and hoped they would follow protocol.
Now here is where my memory gets spotty and I will relay as much information as I can that is true to the best of my knowledge. All I can say is that sometimes, adrenaline has a crazy way of stepping in and taking control of a situation. At one point during the knot-tying extravaganza, I heard one child shout, “Get her!” And heard the others cheer in unison.
I felt calm and collected. Plus, I was wearing a skirt. I was THE adult and had experience here, and he was a snot-nosed eight year old punk. There was no way this kid could or would take me out. Needless to say, In an instant, I found myself totally outnumbered and was pinned like a butterfly in a display case. I wriggled and watched as the others untied the rope under command. It became apparent there was a hierarchy amongst these creatures, and it mocked that of beasts that traveled in packs in the great wild. The one child that commanded the others to conquer me and remove me from my high ranks also ruthlessly barked at them as they untied the rope and continued to climb and clamor. During this chaotic event, and as I tried to break free, I could hear someone fronting.
“Seriously kid, I’ve had a bad day at work today.”
“Dude, let me go. I’m gonna twist up those wiry glasses.”
It wasn’t long before I realized that those very words were actually coming from me. It was all I could do to get enough strength to tear free from enough kids to regain enough stability to stand.
I emerged from the sea of children. I must’ve looked like Flea from the early Red Hot Chili Pepper days, you know, how he used to wear the pants with the stuffed animals sewn all over them? It is now a common bond I share with that man, and I am pretty much certain I am the only one.
As I rose up, I felt strength like no other. I began grasping whole eight year olds single handedly and tearing them from my body. I staggered towards the puny nazi creep like Jack Nicholson as he limped down the halls in The Shining. His back was towards me and I dove at him, smiling roguely, and took his skinny ass to the ground. The room seemed to move in slow motion as we hit the large gym mat. Moments later, I felt what would otherwise have been considered a soft and supple Italian sneaker, belt me in the cheek. I just happened to roll over, and while gripping my face, I craned my neck to avoid a second blow. My watery eyes focused in on another child who had launched himself at magnificent speeds down the zip tie and was currently letting go with a plan.
At that very second I realized I wished the kid that got the idea to do this was not the fat one. There is nothing worse than eight years worth of butter and sausage picking up speed and hitting you while you’re down. Instinct managed to pull through for me as I rolled away in the nick of time: Just as another child dove onto my back and proceeded to apply the sleeper hold with epic strength. He was small and I stood up, shook him off and made for the stairs. Dodging this way and that, I realized I lost a shoe, but I wasn’t about to waste valuable time searching for it. I snatched my martini and waved it like a white flag and the rabid monsters roared with approval. I unsteadily descended the stairs without spilling a single drop of alcohol. I noticed my grip around the stem of the glass and threw the chilled liquid down my throat and watched myself in the mirror of the landing. I could have passed for one of the zombies from thriller. My mascara looked like it was applied with a sharpie marker on a dune buggy ride and my hair was a fright. My blouse was missing a button and I limped with the foot that had abandoned my precious left shoe. I continued my descent and made my way back into the kitchen.
“Well you look like you’ve been to the other side and back. Another martini?” Judy smirked.
I said nothing, released the glass and pushed it forward along the smooth kitchen counter top, and felt the blood rush to my wounds.
She handed me a bag of frozen peas and I gracefully brought it up to my cheek. She made another drink and smiled at me. A methodical and almost staged “beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep” broke the silence and Judy pulled two pizzas from the oven. With huge mitts grasping each pizza, she closed the oven door with her hip and said plainly, “Oh hey champ, can you go back up there and tell them its pizza time?”
My eyes widened in fear and she nodded me in the direction of the stairway. I begrudgingly got up and shuffled my feet back upstairs, cringing at the shrilled sounds of children thundering overhead. I called myself a masochist under my breath as I took myself up each hard wooden step. Courageously, I held my drink like a shield and rounded the corner…
So my dear friend’s child was having a Friday evening birthday party at her house and our presence was requested (although we would improve the party’s attendance by five) for this special event. I can hardly turn down a martini or two and happily obliged, children in tow. Might I add I was coming off a particularly intense day at work and couldn’t wait to unwind.
We arrived a half hour late and the party was well under way. I was amazed at how quiet it was. Judy told me it would be busy.
“They’re all upstairs,” she motioned, passing me a handy dandy cocktail. As I made my ascent, I started hearing the surefire steady sounds of kids taking over the world. I should mention to you that this house is pretty mammoth in all aspects of its 1914 design: Tall ceilings, wide rooms, many thigh burning stairs. The third floor is fraught with kids equipment; a trampoline, a rock climbing wall, a tire swing and, of course, the dreaded gym class rope that reaches sky high.
By the time I reached the top floor I watched, with much amusement, the clashing personalities of about 20 eight year olds escalate to a dynamic, however everlasting, crescendo and was feeling just as tense after about five seconds of making an appearance. I surveyed the huge top floor space. There were a lot of kids here.
Which is a complete understatement. The scene was closer in resemblance to that of a sinking ship filled with panicky rats. I have never seen so many kids so hopped up on sugar, scaling each other all at once. It would have been interesting to take a collective blood sugar level just for kicks. If anything, my guess was that we could have powered this monster of a house for at least a year.
I noticed some tension building around the rope climbing activity. I gracefully set my chilled martini out of harms way and proceeded to ask the boys to settle down because someone would get hurt (I was sure of this, as all parents are and felt justified in stating the matter of fact).
They flat out ignored me. No eye contact, no “uh-huh”, “yeah”, or even a “whatever lady”. So I tried again, raising my voice a bit. I cleared it first and punctiliously stated:
“If you don’t settle down, someone is going to get hurt.” I added “and nobody wants to take a trip to the emergency room on Eli’s birthday.” My voice trailed off. My vernacular drowned in the sea of shrilled screaming and young testosterone. I, too was sinking in this very ship and began to feel my authority shrink back as it was severely compromised. I then decided to school them through action, since they were far too stimulated to embrace anything other than selective hearing. I marched forward and shook each of them free of the rope and proceeded to utilize the extra 16 inches of height I had to my advantage. I began tying the rope in a large knot, high above my head, as far as I could reach. It was a pathetic attempt. I was telling them why I was doing it as I was doing it and hoped they would follow protocol.
Now here is where my memory gets spotty and I will relay as much information as I can that is true to the best of my knowledge. All I can say is that sometimes, adrenaline has a crazy way of stepping in and taking control of a situation. At one point during the knot-tying extravaganza, I heard one child shout, “Get her!” And heard the others cheer in unison.
I felt calm and collected. Plus, I was wearing a skirt. I was THE adult and had experience here, and he was a snot-nosed eight year old punk. There was no way this kid could or would take me out. Needless to say, In an instant, I found myself totally outnumbered and was pinned like a butterfly in a display case. I wriggled and watched as the others untied the rope under command. It became apparent there was a hierarchy amongst these creatures, and it mocked that of beasts that traveled in packs in the great wild. The one child that commanded the others to conquer me and remove me from my high ranks also ruthlessly barked at them as they untied the rope and continued to climb and clamor. During this chaotic event, and as I tried to break free, I could hear someone fronting.
“Seriously kid, I’ve had a bad day at work today.”
“Dude, let me go. I’m gonna twist up those wiry glasses.”
It wasn’t long before I realized that those very words were actually coming from me. It was all I could do to get enough strength to tear free from enough kids to regain enough stability to stand.
I emerged from the sea of children. I must’ve looked like Flea from the early Red Hot Chili Pepper days, you know, how he used to wear the pants with the stuffed animals sewn all over them? It is now a common bond I share with that man, and I am pretty much certain I am the only one.
As I rose up, I felt strength like no other. I began grasping whole eight year olds single handedly and tearing them from my body. I staggered towards the puny nazi creep like Jack Nicholson as he limped down the halls in The Shining. His back was towards me and I dove at him, smiling roguely, and took his skinny ass to the ground. The room seemed to move in slow motion as we hit the large gym mat. Moments later, I felt what would otherwise have been considered a soft and supple Italian sneaker, belt me in the cheek. I just happened to roll over, and while gripping my face, I craned my neck to avoid a second blow. My watery eyes focused in on another child who had launched himself at magnificent speeds down the zip tie and was currently letting go with a plan.
At that very second I realized I wished the kid that got the idea to do this was not the fat one. There is nothing worse than eight years worth of butter and sausage picking up speed and hitting you while you’re down. Instinct managed to pull through for me as I rolled away in the nick of time: Just as another child dove onto my back and proceeded to apply the sleeper hold with epic strength. He was small and I stood up, shook him off and made for the stairs. Dodging this way and that, I realized I lost a shoe, but I wasn’t about to waste valuable time searching for it. I snatched my martini and waved it like a white flag and the rabid monsters roared with approval. I unsteadily descended the stairs without spilling a single drop of alcohol. I noticed my grip around the stem of the glass and threw the chilled liquid down my throat and watched myself in the mirror of the landing. I could have passed for one of the zombies from thriller. My mascara looked like it was applied with a sharpie marker on a dune buggy ride and my hair was a fright. My blouse was missing a button and I limped with the foot that had abandoned my precious left shoe. I continued my descent and made my way back into the kitchen.
“Well you look like you’ve been to the other side and back. Another martini?” Judy smirked.
I said nothing, released the glass and pushed it forward along the smooth kitchen counter top, and felt the blood rush to my wounds.
She handed me a bag of frozen peas and I gracefully brought it up to my cheek. She made another drink and smiled at me. A methodical and almost staged “beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep” broke the silence and Judy pulled two pizzas from the oven. With huge mitts grasping each pizza, she closed the oven door with her hip and said plainly, “Oh hey champ, can you go back up there and tell them its pizza time?”
My eyes widened in fear and she nodded me in the direction of the stairway. I begrudgingly got up and shuffled my feet back upstairs, cringing at the shrilled sounds of children thundering overhead. I called myself a masochist under my breath as I took myself up each hard wooden step. Courageously, I held my drink like a shield and rounded the corner…
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