|
|
It all started with an insatiable craving for Alan's gourmet cheese spread. Usually, I don't yearn for clotted milk products, but for some inexplicable reason, I HAD to have it. On baby carrots. NOW.
Alan protested. Little did I know that he had sworn a holy oath to keep his Cuba Cheese company sharp cheddar and horseradish cheese spread from the cruel depredation of my fiendish carrots. Especially after last time, when I made a sizable dent in the tub.
So I bribed him. You give me cheese spread now, and I'll buy you 2 new ones later. Knowing that I am a woman of my word (and would probably beg him for more cheese later, make the same offer, and redouble his stash yet again), he agreed.
We ordered replacement cheese-nectar ambrosia paste online together. At some point during the order form, we had the option of adding a gift-card message. I almost passed it up, but Alan stopped me and said, "You know that someone has to hand-write or type that, right?" He thought we might as well give them something to laugh at.
So I devised a message:
Dear Ivanna,
Even though we've been divorced for 7 years, I still consider this our 20th anniversary. I just wanted you to know that when I think of you, I think of sharp, horseradish-flavored cheese spread. Here's looking at you, kid!
Love, 'Lil Pone
And sure enough, 1 week later, the cheese arrived with a hand-written card inside the box!
|
|
|
Note to self: washing the dishes and one's self simultaniously in the shower - brilliant time-saving strategy or tempting murphey's law? Must find out.
Note to self: People will believe anything one says, if one presents statement with complete and total confidence in his words.
Note to self: "Lucky-Charms aftertaste" is not an acceptable description to use while sampling expensive scotch.
Note to self: One solves a problem like Maria as one would solve most other problem females - by finding her a rich sugar-daddy. Oh, Baron Von Trap, you old dog.
Note to self: take page on matrimony from Baron Von Trap's book. First, marry some grainsack of a woman and exhaust her fertile, although shapeless, body by forcing her to gestate 12 children in rapid succession. Then shack up with a nubile virgin, fresh out of the habit. Can't fail. Unless all 12 children inexplicably become rabid zombies.
Note to self: if it needs cellophane plastic to hold its shape, it's not cheese.
Note to self: the following phrases should not be mentioned during a serious discussion on abortion: "Shop vac"; "fuck-'n-suck;" "pipe-cleaner"; "scraping the purse for small change"; "the other white meat."
Note to self: Ducky.
|
|
|
I've finally given up on poetry class. Completely. Totally. With Abandon. Screw trying to concoct pearly verse for those swine! Instead I will ply them with flurries of bullshit that took five minutes to compose. Like this one:
Banan.
A phone ring.
ring ring ring
he calls me every day on the banan.
A phone.
I've got my hunches
They come in.
Bunches celluar
Mod you lying son of a banan.
A phone.
I will peel back your
Yellow skin in four parts:
one skin two skin three skin four.
Daylight screams
and I banan.
A phone.
Pure genius. I can't wait to see what they all think it means. Probably western domination of impoverished banana republics or some shit like that. In all truth, it was inspired by the following flash animation: BANANAPHONE!
|
|
|
So apparently, I have an arch nemesis. I say apparently, because I was completely oblivious to the fact until a good friend kindly mentioned it while intoxicated. This divulgence surprised me because the female in question - we shall call her Creemi L'amour - is his current love interest.
Apparently, without even interacting with her for a cumulative 20 minutes, I have caused dear Creemi much psychological and emotional turmoil. My main offenses consist of the following:
1. Approximately eight (8) months ago, during freshman move-in day, my father backed his van into the L'amour family's car. I was not at the wheel, nor did I have any particular role in the incident. In fact, the entire event was so anticlamactic that it has since evaporated from my memory.
Nevertheless, the crushing emotional pain that Creemi experienced while witnessing the denting of her daddy's SUV was almost too much to bear. She sought the only coping mechanism that her limited resources had to offer. She sowed the seeds of enmity. In Creemi's own words (according through an inebriated and biased second-hand source): "She is the one with the blue hair. I will not forget this day."
Apparently Creemi L'amour's family is very close-knit. Creemi's suitor says that they believe when one member transgresses, the others also hold responsibility. I take this to mean that she is part of a hive mind. Perhaps a worker drone.
2. Approximately seven (7) months ago, I sat several feet away from Creemi L'amour while dining at Center Court Cafeteria. After discovering that her food contained calories, she occupied herself by toying vigorously with saltshakers and flatware. Eventually, Creemi knocked [ITEM] over, shattering it.
"I love playing with things in restraunts," she cooed, attempting to break the tension.
"Is that because they aren't yours?" came my reply.
Apparently, such stringent scrutiny struck the streak of strife still stewing in her psyche. She's hated me ever since.
Because she knows that I was absolutely right.
|
|
|
Meditation on the Tattooed Lady's Left Leg
From stocky thigh to hip
Reposes Eve with serpent green,
Whose coils bind her arching back and claim
The paradise god built in Adam's name
While Eva twists in sensuous scream
Forked tongue upon her lip
*****
Sometimes I wonder what part of my brain makes this stuff up. Probably the chip that the government installed a few years back. I mean, if it can attract lighting and small winged mammals, why not creative writing, too? But which attraction is the side effect?
|
|
|
"No one can say you aren't distinct. I could see you from a mile away."
"Really? I thought black from head to toe was the perfect camoflage."
"I just look for a human-shaped nexus that sucks in all of the surrounding sunlight. Like a black hole."
--- A friend on my choice of clothing
"You do a lot for me, even when you're not around. I haven't believed in anything for years. But you inspire me. You inspire me to believe."
"Heh. If I told you how much you inspire me, you wouldn't believe me."
--- One who has made a difference in my life, and myself
My favorite conversations are the ones that flow like dialogue from a well-written novel. Usually, they occur between two incredibly verbose individuals who have known each other for some time. They are rare. And to my ears, they are wonderful.
If only I could capture such flawless spontaneity in my own writing, I would be an authress unsurpassed by man or god! Perhaps I should simply spend all my hours eavesdropping and transcribe everything I hear.
|
|
|
"I'm glad you found someone that strikes your fancy. So her name's Virginia?"
"Yeah."
"You know that she's going to be a receptionist someday, right?"
-- Alan talking to Adam about his current love intrest.
So yesterday I landed a menial job at San Sai Japanese Grill (most of the work is cleaning) just in case I don't get a better one for the summer. I start on thursday. Bring your own pair of black pants, black socks, and black shoes. Oh, the glory of seven dollars an hour.
At least it'll keep wonderbread and margarine on the table. And it beats McDonalds by a landslide. And I'm sure that my new job will provide OODLES of fascinating stories for the blog 'o doom; such as watching grease coagulate, or the woman who always pays in pennies.
|
|
|
And now, two baby birds killed with a watermellon-sized stone: selections from "The ABC's of Me," a random Nemerov Seminar Assignment.
And yes, SEVERAL PARTS ARE ENTIRELY FICTIONAL. Or highly extrapolated from the truth. It's a creative writing assignment, guys.
Antidepressants
They don't do a thing for me. Unless you count the side effects. If I'm ever going to get over my depression, it's going to be on my own steam.
Bjork
Her hit single once gave me some kind of sensory seizure. I remember that unmistakable, alien soprano keening against a backdrop of electronic squeals. Next thing I knew, I was on the floor. I've loved her music ever since.
Coming out bisexual
I realized that no one really gave a damn. And I got on with my life. I consider myself lucky.
. . .
Evading The Question
What else is there to do when you don't want to lie and can't tell the truth?
Fetish Scene
It was your typical college party: chips, dips, chains, whips . . .
Genes
Big A little a, brow n or blue, wrinkled or smooth. Blood type. Fur color. I loved to chart them, to make a grid and say the sooth. At last, flawless probabilities. I had earned the right to predict life itself, and the world would never again lack certain outcomes.
But my own Punnet square never quite worked out. Daddy knew it, too, although the math did not come easily to him. He began to slide out from underneath my logic very slowly, as if removing a sleeping child from his lap. The harder I tried to circle my square, the less he fit. And before I knew it, he was gone, leaving half of my family tree infested with question marks.
Then mom got sick. Genetic, they said. I cried. For anyone else, I would have known what that meant, yet my own equation remained inscrutable. I tried to start a new square and work backwards, but lost my will to finish it. I could not record my mother's legacy and call her unpaired suffering my own.
In the end, I gave up Punnet squares for the comfort of a blank page.
Horseback Riding Camp
The only cool thing about being a girl-scout.
Indigo
People have to remember me for something. It might as well be my hair color.
. . .
Kegels
Because I can.
Lerve
Only the most intimate of souls are able to create a functional secret language.
Monster
The first time I tried it, the caffeine made my heart cringe. Now I have to drink one every day just to stay alert.
Needles
I've come in contact with more needles than I'm willing to admit. But if I'm willing to drive one through my own lip without anesthesia, why do I still shrink from a blood test?
Octopi
They're smarter than you think. They also taste great raw.
Pussy Control
Only Prince would have the balls to write a six-minute song called "Pussy Control.” Naturally, I've made it my personal anthem.
Quincy the Iguana
He didn't start off friendly. When I first received Quincy, he'd been cooped up in a chicken-wire cage for seven years and systematically ignored. And boy was he bitter about it. He was a full five feet long, with talons and a razor-scaled tail.
My mom told me to never let him out. I wouldn't have it. I can tame him, I said, as I reached into the cage to stroke the lizard's spiny plates. He crept tentatively towards my hand, looked me in the eye, and bit my finger. I decided that a more gradual approach was best.
So, I began to do my homework next to his cage every day after school. In the beginning, Quincy would fling himself against the bars, trying to attack me. A few weeks later, Quincy would let me stick my hand into the cage, as long as I didn't get within a few inches of him. He let me touch him before the school year was over.
I will never forget the day he let me pick him up. The little bastard waited until he was safely wrapped in my arms to scrabble up my neck, using his claws for traction. I spent the next three hours trying to capture him with a pillowcase. Oh yes, the noble beast will teach man patience.
Raving
Peace, Love, Unity, Respect, right? I didn't find that. What I did find was music. Hardcore Trance. There is no thrill, in my opinion, like tracing electron orbitals with your glow-sticks to the incessant sucker-punch of a fat bass kick.
Smoking
The pastime that says: "I have terminal ennui."
Tattoos
Sometimes I feel like they're my only static feature.
Uterus
If I use mine, it will ‘splode, because I am a mutant.
. . . . .
Wasabi
Nothing beats a dollop of grated chartreuse horseradish on your seaweed and fish-eggs. It cleans out your sinuses. And your episodic memory. Ohio WASABI!
Xenophobia
Brutal - that's the only word to describe it. Sure, if any creed achieves 99.9% majority in an insular area, they grow resentful of "intruders,” but the Mormons of Utah valley took distaste to a new level. When my family finally moved to Texas, the realm of gay-bashing Baptists seemed like Southern Liberal Heaven.
Yuriana Kim
She always acted very strange when I was around. Unbeknownst to me, she competed with my grades and writing skill. At the end of the school year, my friend Cody told me it was obvious. Why else would she hover over my shoulder while I wrote, ask me to proofread her papers, and talk about me incessantly when I wasn't in the room? I don't know, I said. I always just thought she had a crush on me.
Zuke Fest
Back when I lived in Massachusetts, my parents used to take my three siblings and I on a road trip to Vermont every summer. Destination: Zucchini fest. Zuke fest for short. Picture a hundred ex-hippies making herbal zucchini bread and playing the guitar for seven days straight. I came for the frog-pond, the open fields, and the unadulterated evening sky, but I stayed because it was one of the few times I ever saw both my parents relax.
|
|
|
Books I plan on writing before I die:
1. Guide To Your Mom
2. 51 Things You Should Never Do With A Pickle (and two you should)
3. The Squid and I
4. Bitch or How Sandy Stole My Strap-on
5. The Big Book of Fuckin' Nothin'.
6. Butt-plugs, Burgers, and Barbiturates: The Secret Life of Grimace
7. Eroticize: Fast Fat-burning Fucking!
8. Crack Ho's I Have Known and Loved
9. Incarceration: The Buttery Back-door To Re-entry
10. The Whithered Road to Cocktown
|
"